Through the Eyes of a Story Keeper
by Tsunade's Apprentice
Summary: HoF through the eyes of an outside observer—the wonderful Emrys! I couldn't help but wonder what it all looked like to him and the other residents of Mistward. If you don't think you'll like this just give me a chance to win you over!
1. Chapter 1

I've seen quite a few wonderful fics looking at HoF from Rowan's POV, and I'll admit I'm trash for them. I just can't get enough! But on my latest reread I found myself wondering about what the denizens of Mistward thought of Aelin's and Rowan's behaviour and relationship, and naturally that lead me to Emrys. And here you have it!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my own copies of the books, my imagination and my deep, everlasting love of Rowaelin.

* * *

**Through the Eyes of a Story Keeper**

_Chapter 1_

Emrys nearly didn't believe his eyes at the sight before him.

The young woman standing beside Prince Rowan could have been the mirror image of Evalin Ashryver. Or perhaps, with the haunted look on her gaunt face, her ghost.

He stifled the exclamation building in his chest, doing his best to keep his expression polite and neutral. He knew she'd arrived last night with the prince, yet nothing had been said of who she was. But Emrys was certain he knew. He was certain he knew who this young woman was, for all that she was barely more than a half-starved girl right now.

She looked in desperate need of both a hot meal and a bath.

Resisting the urge to order her to a seat and placing a heaping plate of food before her, Emrys stilled himself, waiting for Prince Rowan to speak. Emrys didn't know the male except by name and sight, but knew enough not to speak out of turn.

The prince looked at the woman as he spoke, disdain clear in his voice, though he addressed Emrys. "Your new scullery maid for the morning shift. After breakfast, I have her for the rest of the day." Each word was clipped, short. Emrys realised it was the first time the male had ever spoken to him.

Emrys wondered just what the girl had done to deserve that tone. And, if she was who he thought she was, then why was the prince treating her like that. But if she wasn't, why was Rowan overseeing her training?

In lieu of offering an introduction, the prince raised an eyebrow at the woman, and Emrys almost reached out to her to offer support as she looked to him and struggled over each word.

"Elentiya. My name is Elentiya."

Emrys almost didn't catch the name, or the edgy look she cast at the male beside her, as if expecting an unpleasant reaction. That voice. Yes, he knew exactly who she was. Not Elentiya, but Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. The daughter of his one-time friend. Heir to the throne of Terrasen and second in line to the throne of Wendlyn.

Gods, what had happened to her?

No, now wasn't the time to ask.

He couldn't even offer her something to eat right now, not with the look on Prince Rowan's face. She was clearly here to work, and Emrys feared that giving her even just the time to eat would end with unpleasant consequences for her. But he could give her some space from the Fae, something all his senses were telling him she desperately wanted.

Stepping forward, wiping his hands clean to hide the tremble in them he said, in his politest voice, "So good of you to find us additional help, Prince." It wasn't what he wanted to say at the scene before him, but it was the right thing to say to a male of Prince Rowan's standing.

Swallowing, he turned to the young woman. Elentiya. He could give her the kindness to not question the name. Instead he looked her over, looking at more now than just her face. He had to bite down on his reaction again.

"Ever work in a kitchen?" It was all he could do to get the short question out, instead of the words boiling inside him.

Elentiya shook her head. "No." The word was quiet. Small.

"Well, I hope you're a fast learner and quick on your feet." If he could act like this was utterly normal, as if she was no different to any other new arrival, then perhaps Prince Rowan would leave sooner and give the woman the respite from his overwhelming presence that it was clear she needed.

"I'll do my best."

She'd barely finished the last word before the prince left, Elentiya watching each movement and paling slightly, even as her jaw clenched despite her swollen, split lip.

"I'm Emrys," he started, then felt the questions boiling up in him once more and quickly turned away, heading to the bread oven before he could say something he shouldn't. He took the time it took to remove a loaf to collect himself before he went on. "And this is Luca."

The youngster had fallen silent as Rowan had entered, going so far as to having stopped cutting the onions lest the sound draw the male's attention. None of them could say they knew the male, but they knew enough: knew that he was the commander of Queen Maeve's forces, the strongest fae male alive, ruthless and merciless as a frozen winter's night.

Emrys took a moment to explain her duties before Luca started chattering, already at ease once more. But Emrys couldn't help but look over his deceased friend's daughter, taking in more details now that the fae prince wasn't overpowering the kitchen.

His eyes landed on her fingers where they peeked out of her long sleeves. Faster than he expected, she noticed his attention and raised her hands, her sleeves falling back to reveal the true extent of the scars he'd just noticed on her fingers.

"Mother keep me," he breathed in horror, "What happened?"

He'd never seen hands so scarred. Not amongst the sentries here at Mistward, nor amongst the occasional soldiers who passed by here. Her fingers, palms and the backs of her hands were criss-crossed with silvery lines, most clean, straight lines, some few reminiscent of jagged tears. Some, he didn't fail to notice, disappeared under the cuffs of her tunic where they rested just beyond her wrist bones.

Then he noticed the scars almost circling her neck.

By the gods, if she had so many scars just where he could see…

Aelin Ashryver wasn't yet twenty, he knew, and yet—based on what little he could see—she was more scarred than anyone he'd ever seen before. He looked back to her face, the bruises marring the tanned yet wan skin, the split lip, the hard as ice look in her eyes. This poor girl. Just what had happened to her in the decade since her parents' death?

A look of cold challenge entered her gaze as she said, "Adarlan will do that to a person. Give me whatever work you want. Any work." Her words were flat.

Emrys looked at the bruised woman in front of him, barely out of childhood and already so scarred, so cold. This wasn't what Evalin would have wanted for her daughter. This wasn't what he wanted for his friend's daughter. But this woman, despite looking so much like her mother, was a stranger to him and she was making it clear his concern was unwelcome, so he pulled himself together and set her to chopping the onions, then the potatoes, mushrooms and any other vegetables he needed, keeping her busy throughout breakfast.

Elentiya did it all without a word of complaint, or a word at all. Emrys found himself observing his new helper over and over. With each look his heart ached more than before. She'd said she'd never worked in a kitchen, yet it was clear that she was familiar with using a knife. Each slice was fast yet precise. Her hands were calloused and covered in fine scars. It all made for an image that tugged at his heart strings. Emrys was a cook - a carer at heart: seeing someone in such desperate need of care was almost painful to him.

Emrys found himself almost agape once the breakfast rush had come to an end and the young woman sat down to eat at Luca's urging. She practically inhaled the food, fast enough that Emrys wondered just what she looked like under all those layers of clothes.

"Gods above, when was the last time you ate?" The question was out before he could stop it.

To his dismay she slowed her chewing, then set down the fork. "Sorry," she murmured. 'Sorry'? She had nothing to apologise for and Emrys silently cursed his lack of self control.

"Oh, eat all you like. There's nothing more satisfying to a cook than seeing someone enjoy his food." It was the truth, but he saw the flash of her eyes as she heard the forced lightness of his words. Cursed dominants and their touchiness. The last thing he'd wanted was to put her off the food she so clearly needed, yet he'd done it in just a sentence. And where someone like Luca would be appeased by the light-hearted comment, she clearly wasn't.

As he and Luca joined her at the table, each filling their own plates and engaging in unusually stilted conversation, Elentiya barely managed to force down a couple more bites, finally pushing the food on her plate around, utterly lost in thought.

Luca, dear, tactless Luca, turned to her then. "So you either have to be very important or very unlucky to have Rowan training you to enter Doranelle."

Emrys couldn't help the hint of curiosity at the question. She hadn't engaged in conversation yet and he'd been loath to pry, but if Luca was asking anyway…

Elentiya just looked at the boy, silent and unblinking. It was a broken look, but even so, Emrys wondered if any of the fortress residents would be able to hold that gaze for long.

"That is what you're training for, right?" Luca tried again.

A dull blink. "Isn't that why you're all here?"

"Yes," Luca answered, barely perturbed by the flat tone, "But I've got years until I learn whether I've met their qualifications."

A flash of alarm lit her eyes before she turned to look at Emrys. "How long have you been training?" she demanded.

Emrys couldn't help but snort at that, despite the persistent ache in his chest since her arrival. "Oh, I was about fifteen when I came here, and worked for them for about… ten years, and I was never worthy enough. Then I decided I'd rather have a home and my own kitchen here rather than be looked down upon in Doranelle for the rest of my days. It didn't hurt that my mate felt the same way. You'll meet him soon enough. He's always popping in to steal food for himself and his men." Despite himself, Emrys chucked fondly at the thought of his mate. Elentiya only looked troubled.

"So you're all—half-breeds?"

"Only the pure-blooded Fae call us that," Luca explained between mouthfuls of food. "We prefer demi-Fae. But yes, most of us were born to mortal mothers, with the fathers unaware they'd sired us. The gifted ones usually get snatched away to Doranelle, but for us common offspring, the humans still aren't comfortable with us, so … we go here, we come to Mistward. Or to the other border outposts. Few enough get permission to go to Doranelle that most just come here to live among their own kind. Looks like you got more human in you than Fae," he finished, giving her face an assessing once over.

"Because I'm not half." Another short, uninterested response.

"Can you shift?" Luca pressed, ignoring the sharp look Emrys shot him.

"Can you?" Elentiya retorted.

The conversation went on like that for a while: Luca explaining a little of the politics that governed the lives of demi-Fae. Emrys tried to discourage his assistant from disparaging Queen Maeve too openly—they had no idea of this young woman's loyalties after all, and Maeve was known to have eyes everywhere. Even if Elentiya didn't say anything to Maeve—and considering how apathetic she seemed, it was unlikely she would—Maeve had sent her top commander here to train the girl: the Fae queen had clearly taken some particular interest in the princess and it was impossible to know if she was monitoring goings on here.

Eventually Elentiya asked another question: "What do you know about Rowan? How old is he?" Emrys could almost feel how much she chafed at having to ask.

Emrys decided to answer before Luca could. The Fae Prince could be anywhere right now, after all. Speaking slowly, he picked his words with care.

"He's one of the few Fae we see around Mistward—he stops in every now and then to retrieve reports for Maeve, but he keeps to himself. Never stays the night. Occasionally he'll come with the others like him—there are six of them who closely serve the Queen as war leaders or spies, you see. They never talk to us, and all we hear are rumors about where they go and what they do. But I've known Rowan since I first came here. Not that I really know him, mind you." The idea was almost laughable. "Sometimes he's gone for years, off serving Her Majesty. And I don't think anyone knows how old he is. When I was fifteen, the oldest people living here had known him since they were younglings, so … I'd say he's very old."

"And mean as an adder," Luca muttered. Just the kind of answer Emrys had been hoping to avoid.

"You'd best mind your tongue." Emrys shot a quick look toward the doors. It would have almost been fitting if the male had been standing right there. He looked back to the young woman opposite him and couldn't quite keep the concern from his voice as he spoke again, "I'll admit that you're probably in for a good heap of difficulty."

"He's a stone-cold killer and a sadist is what he means," Luca chimed in. "The meanest of Maeve's personal cabal of warriors, they say."

As much as he disagreed with Luca's willingness to speak out against Maeve and her inner court so openly, Emrys couldn't bring himself to disagree.

"I can handle him." Her words were quiet and grave, but Luca didn't seem to notice as he started talking about the tattoo.

That tattoo had been a topic of gossip for as long as Emrys had been here and he couldn't blame Luca for getting caught up in the excitement of talking about all the gruesome rumours he'd heard about it, but that didn't stop him trying to hush the boy. Even if he did have a point about the Fae's attitude.

Elentiya only repeated, "I can handle him."

Emrys hoped she was right.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

The next morning Emrys found himself gaping at Elentiya once more, his heart wrenching at the sight of her.

He'd turned to see what had caused Luca to cut off so abruptly, not having heard her enter, and found the young woman striding across the room to the pile of garlic set out for her on the table.

Gods, her face. He'd thought yesterday's bruises had been bad—awful even—but today she had an angry-looking bruise spreading from a cut on her temple to a deeply purple eye. And though it should have been impossible in just a day, he would have sworn to the gods above that she'd lost weight and what colour she'd had.

And her eyes… They looked even more lifeless than before.

If he hadn't seen her just yesterday, Emrys would have said she looked like one who had been grievously ill for some time. Just what had that male done to her?

Luca too was gaping at her. "I've got some salve in my room–"

"It's none of your business."

So cold. Her voice was so cold. More so than yesterday. It sparked something in Emrys: anger. He was angry at what had been done to this young woman.

"It's my business when you come into my kitchen." He retorted, crossing the kitchen towards her, shattered bowl forgotten on the floor.

Elentiya didn't even look up as she said, "I've been through worse."

"What do you mean?" Luca asked, voice quieter now and filled with horror.

From the corner of his eye, Emrys saw Luca looking at the woman as he did the same. She was so young and so, so scarred. Emrys swallowed, forcing down the demands for an explanation. They were still strangers to her and had no right to demand those things from her.

Luca took a breath as if he was about to say something, but Emrys cut him off. "Leave it alone, Luca." He knew she could hear the sadness in his voice and knew it would likely rile her, but there was no helping it.

Whatever had happened in the last day, he suspected it was just more in a long list of grievances Elentiya had suffered in the last decade.

As much as he quailed to see her so hurt, he was in no position to get answers from her that she didn't want to give, and it was neither his nor Luca's place to pry into her past. The familiarity he felt with her was nothing but an echo of his friendship with her mother and it gave him no right to expect her to care about his feelings, not when she seemed to be holding on by barely more than a thread.

Instead, Emrys fell back on his tactic from the day before and set her to work.

The breakfast rush passed in near silence until eventually Malakai appeared at the foot of the winding staircase.

Emrys had sensed him approaching, but hadn't expected his mate's appreciative whistle at the sight of Elentiya, and didn't have time to stop him before he said to the young woman, "Now that is one of the most glorious black eyes I've ever beheld."

Emrys scolded his mate to leave her alone, but Malakai just grinned at the girl as he set down a platter. "Rowan doesn't pull punches, does he?"

Malakai looked her over again when it became clear that his usual charm was having no effect, and he saw that she had no intention of answering him. "And it looks like you don't bother using a healing salve."

Elentiya held his gaze, unflinching and uncaring.

Malakai cracked first.

"My mate works too much as it is," he growled, grin gone now. "You don't add to that burden, understand?"

Emrys growled at him from across the kitchen. The girl was clearly struggling enough already.

Still holding his gaze, she shrugged and said, "I don't want to bother with any of you." Flat words, without a hint of inflection. The warning was clear: leave me alone.

Malakai stared at her for a moment longer before he nodded sharply and walked away without another word.

Elentiya stayed staring for a long moment at the empty space where he had been, before turning back to the sink.

Emrys accepted and returned his mate's quick kiss, despite his irritation: Malakai was his heart, his home.

Still… "Leave her alone, Malakai," he growled under his breath. "She's got enough–"

"No," Malakai spoke over him, equally quiet. "She doesn't get to do that."

"She just needs time."

"You don't know that—you don't know her. Let her deal with her problems on her own. Don't take this on yourself."

"I can't promise that," Emrys said, casting a pained glance at Elentiya before looking back to meet his mate's gaze.

Malakai swallowed, "... I know…"

They said quick goodbyes before Malakai left, and Emrys tried to lighten the situation, complaining about Fae territorialism.

It felt forced even to him.

But Emrys couldn't leave Elentiya alone and isolated at the sink. "My mate means we'll, lass," he started, "But you're a stranger—and from Adarlan. And you're training with someone… none of us quite understand."

It was true. Emrys had never heard of Maeve assigning Rowan to train someone. And Elentiya was keeping enough secrets of her own already. It was another reminder that for all their physical similarities, Aelin was not Evalin. Maybe she wasn't even Aelin anymore, the name Elentiya not just a request for anonymity, but also a statement of her identity.

Barely restraining himself from putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, Emrys left the princess to her scrubbing, wishing he knew how to help her.

Malakai found him sat on the edge of their bed that night, forehead braced in his hand.

He hadn't been there long, only as long as it had taken his mate to check in with the night's sentries. Just a short detour from the kitchen.

Emrys didn't look up as Malakai shut the door and leaned against it.

"She's not your responsibility." Malakai didn't have to specify of whom he was speaking, nowlr question who it was that had Emrys so preoccupied. And, despite the bluntness of his words, Emrys knew his mate meant well.

"Then whose is she?" he challenged, looking up, taking in the drawn lines of Malakai's face and the tension in his shoulders.

"Rowan's. Her own." Malakai shrugged, jaw tight as he looked away. "I don't know or care, but she's not yours."

"Her mother was my friend–"

"–And mine," Malakai cut across him. "But that doesn't make her your responsibility."

"She's barely more than a child, Malakai." Emrys hissed, keeping his voice low enough that their neighbours wouldn't be able to make out his words. "You saw her. Do you still think I was overreacting?"

When Emrys had told Malakai about the girl yesterday, the other man had brushed off his concerns. But now, having seen her, his mate rubbed a hand over his face. "No." The word was barely more than a resigned groan.

"You heard the state she came back in, yesterday," Emrys pressed. Malakai did. The fortress was isolated enough that even the smallest occurrence made for gossip, and there was nothing small about a new resident arriving to be met By Queen Maeve and then assigned to her Commander. "I don't know what kind of training the prince is putting her through, but I've never known a person to soil themselves because of magic training. So no, she is not his responsibility."

"Em–"

"No! I can't do anything to change her situation with the prince, but I cannot look at that girl and not care about her."

Malakai pushed off the door with a sigh. He stopped to toe off his boots before walking to the bed and dropping down to sit beside his mate. The movements were tired.

Emrys leaned against his shoulder, as Malakai moved to lean against him as he hunched forward to brace his arms on his knees. Each supporting and drawing comfort from the other.

Malakai didn't look up as he spoke. "She's not your responsibility, because you're not the only one here." Malakai raised his voice a little when Emrys tried to speak, "I don't much like the girl from what I've seen so far… but I've told the sentries to keep an eye on her—to make sure she gets clothes and salves if she needs them, to call for a healer if it seems necessary." He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the floor as Emrys looked at him in mild surprise. "I get the impression she's going to be pretty isolated here, between her own attitude and the prince's training. But she'll have people looking out for her."

Emrys squeezed his mate's knee in thanks. "I knew I'd rubbed off on you," he teased, loving this male even more, for all it seemed impossible.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

In the days that followed Elentiya didn't turn up with any more injuries, but despite her bruises gradually fading, she didn't warm up to the residents of Mistward in the least. She did, however, fall into a steady routine: the girl was always punctual in the mornings, and barely needed any instructions. In the evenings, she would appear on near silent feet, only once the others had finished eating and were focused on Emrys himself, at which point she'd fill her plate to near overflowing and eat at the back of the crowd. She would stay for as long as he recounted his stories, then be the first to leave.

Emrys observed her carefully as the days passed, and he'd noticed how she monitored each movement around her. She watched in the same way that his mate did. And yet not. Emrys wasn't a trained observer and as such found it difficult to pinpoint the differences, but he was attentive enough to know they were there.

Where Malakai observed in the manner Emrys had grown accustomed to from all the sentries—scanning each new arrival in a room and quickly identifying friend from foe—Elentiya took in each detail, listened to every snippet of conversation. Emrys wondered, at first, if the difference was simply because she considered everyone a potential foe, where Malakai saw friends. As the days passed, however, Emrys had come to another conclusion. There was one other person in the fortress who observed with the same detail: Rowan.

On Elentiya's second day in the kitchens, Emrys had described the Fae prince as someone none of them understood. It wasn't just the fact that he was a prince, nor that he was a full-blooded Fae. It wasn't his age, nor his tattoo. Emrys had met a handful of Fae over the decades and, though he was by no means an expert on the subject, he was fairly certain that Prince Rowan and his blood-sworn brethren were as much a different breed from the general populace of Doranelle as the Fae were from humans. And even within that elite group, Prince Rowan was singled out, if the rumours were to be believed.

The similarities between the two were almost unnerving. A nineteen year old had no place being so alike to a Fae warrior centuries her senior and known for having destroyed kingdoms.

Elentiya wasn't a Warrior in the way the male was, but Emrys couldn't help but wonder if she might turn out similar if she lived to be as old as Rowan, if she kept those walls up.

* * *

A little over a week after the princess' arrival, Emrys noticed a shift in the dynamic between the two most alien residents of the fortress.

He'd noted their absence, the night before, during both dinner and in the kitchen after. And Malakai, knowing that Emrys wanted to be kept updated on the girl, had told him of the sentry's report: Elentiya had been seen leaving with a pack, headed for the lowlands. A few hours later she had returned, soaking wet and lead by Prince Rowan.

Emrys had bitten down on his questions when she told him at breakfast that she would be pulling double duty in the kitchens, hadn't asked her if she was alright or if there was anything he could do for her.

After finishing the morning clean-up, she and Rowan had barely made it out of the fortress into the afternoon sun before the cursing had started.

Emrys had heard from several scouts that the pair's daily training seemed to primarily consist of snarling and swearing, but now it seemed that some internal barrier had been broken in the young woman, for she barely waited the time it took to take half a dozen steps out of the door before before she started on the prince.

And it went on like that.

Every. Single. Day.

Emrys could still remember his youth well, and knew a fair assortment of curses. Yet the girl had an arsenal to make a sailor proud. Apparently so did the male training her.

Wonderful.

Just wonderful.

* * *

A week later Emrys didn't know what to make of it when Malakai informed him that Prince Rowan had apparently taken Elentiya to inspect a body.

Emrys knew about the deaths—Malakai was a terrible liar and Emrys always knew when something was troubling him—despite his mate's attempts to shelter him from the brutal details.

It made perfect sense for Rowan to be looking into such unnatural deaths. These were exactly the kinds of reports he routinely came to the fortress to collect, though something this dire was far outside of the norm. Emrys couldn't remember a single incident like it in all his years here and he couldn't deny that he was glad the Warrior had happened to be stationed here now, when this was happening.

Still, what purpose could the male possibly have in taking the girl there?

The more Emrys learnt of her—little as it was—the more he dreaded learning of her past; of what she had been forced into becoming. A princess, even one in exile, shouldn't have any valuable input on a murder scene. Neither should a nineteen year old. And certainly not to the extent that even Prince Rowan, who treated her with nothing but disdain, would consider her input worthwhile.

What did Evalin think of her daughter, wherever her soul now rested? Did she curse them for failing her only daughter so?

Many years ago, rumours of Aelin of the Wildfire, the young heir of Terrasen, had reached even these distant outposts. . They'd spoken of a lively, even capricious child, as beloved to her court as she was feared beyond it. They'd heard of her vast well of power, of her volatile temper; of her generosity and joy. Emrys had no doubt that, despite the fear her magic caused in other courts, Evalin would have raised her daughter with love and joy in her heart.

Now that same daughter was investigating corpses and had more in common with Maeve's most deadly commander than with the other inhabitants of Mistward.

* * *

Whatever happened that day, Emrys couldn't deny that when Elentiya appeared for kitchen duty that night, she seemed… different. More centred.

He'd never seen the young woman like that.

She was still distant, but where before she had seemed aimless, going at a task with determination simply because she had nothing else to do, she now had a sharpness to her eyes that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with having a purpose. She didn't engage in conversation, but the acknowledgements she did give were verging on polite as opposed to cold.

And again, he found himself saddened by the price life had demanded of the child in return for her survival.

* * *

Emrys looked up as the air in the kitchen seemed to become heavier, and stilled as he found Prince Rowan standing by the back door.

The prince took in the kitchen in a single glance, clearly unsurprised to find Malakai there too in the last minutes before dawn.

"I'll be taking your scullery maid this morning," he said by way of greeting, then shot a glance at Malakai, too. "Do you require any supplies from the Healers' compound?"

The prince only stayed long enough to receive the list of items they needed and the coins to cover the cost, and to fill his pack with some bread, cheese and apples. Then he was gone.

"What's that about?" Luca asked, having arrived just before the prince had left.

"Wouldn't I love to know," Malakai muttered, shooting a glance at the spiral staircase up which the male had disappeared.

Whatever thoughts Emrys had had of asking Elentiya upon her return came to nought once he saw her. Elentiya was subdued as she entered the kitchen, and stayed that way throughout. Somehow, she seemed to be trying to take up less space, and Emrys again had to resist the urge to comfort the girl.

Still, as much as he'd worried for her, the very next morning Emrys had to admit to a tinge of amusement as Elentiya came barrelling down the stairs, inhaled as much food as possible around a mumbled explanation that she and Rowan were travelling somewhere overnight, then scrambled back upstairs, all in the space of barely a couple of minutes.

When she returned the next day it didn't go unnoticed that she'd somehow acquired a selection of books and sweets, amongst other things. And that Prince Rowan had seemingly carried them from wherever they'd bought them.

Emrys didn't ask. It wasn't his place, but he didn't miss the way in which the two now gravitated towards each other that night as he told his stories: a white-tailed hawk sat on the stable-door, a blonde haired princess sat beside him.

He wondered—how could he not?—just what had happened on that trip. Or why it had even been taken.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I just wanted to say a great big thank you to everyone who's reviewed, followed or favourited this fic. I'm a review junkie and seeing your thoughts about this fic makes my day!

_Chapter 4_

As the days passed, Emrys didn't miss that little by little Elentiya became more settled. Her looks were no longer so sharp and she even went so far as to occasionally join a conversation, if only with him and Luca. Sometimes she would shoot an enquiry at her trainer on the occasions he came to meet her in the kitchen.

Little by little, she was healing.

* * *

"I gotta say," Bas' voice echoed down the spiral staircase, bouncing off the walls together with the heavy tread of several pairs of feet, "When I heard he was training her, I thought she was lucky—hell, I was _jealous_!—but he's one mean son of a—"

"Language, boy," Emrys snapped at him.

The young man—not really a boy anymore, though Emrys still saw him as one—held up his hands in a placating gesture as he reached the bottom of the stairs and emerged into the warmth of the kitchen, Luca and Sten behind him.

Quick greetings were exchanged and soon Luca and his small group of friends were sat at the long table, mugs of tea in hand and a loaf of bread set in the middle, already well on the way to being devoured.

"You know, she actually smiled at me the other day," Bas announced to the table, voice quiet enough to not reach anyone passing by the top of the stairs.

There was really only one _she_ as far as the fortress gossip mill was concerned at the moment, and Emrys was sure that while it wouldn't surprise her in the least, Elentiya would have a few choice words for anyone she caught talking about her.

"Elentiya is alright," Luca said, voice tinged with the slightest hint of reproach. "Life's just…" he shrugged, "It's not easy living out there…"

Sten grunted in agreement, head dipping in a slow nod. Bas lifted his mug in salute, a sombre look on his face.

Life was hard for many demi-Fae. As half breeds with abilities superior to humans yet inferior to Fae, most spent their lives being treated as outcasts: treated as suspicious or as a threat by humans and treated like dirt by Fae. Far too many had been abused or abandoned in the years before finally finding the outposts.

It was true for all of them sat at that table—for most of the residents here—and Emrys was sure it was true of Elentiya, too.

A moment of silence passed, then Bas said, "Can you imagine receiving training from one of Maeve's commanders? I bet any one of us would be good enough to enter Doranelle in no time if we had that kind of chance! Forget waiting ten years, with that kind of training it wouldn't take more than a year."

"I dunno," Sten answered, his voice soft and smooth as always, "I don't think I'd be capable of Whitethorn's kinda training."

"And Elentiya is?" Bas challenged. "I feel bad for the girl, sure, and I'm not saying his training would ever be easy, but maybe if she had a little respect and discipline—"

"That's enough," Emrys cut in. Though he welcomed everyone into his kitchen, he wasn't going to sit by while someone spoke poorly of another resident. Especially one as isolated and lonely as Elentiya.

"It's only what Whitethorn says!" Bas retorted.

"Oh? He told you that, did he?" Emrys asked, brows raised as he held the sentry's gaze.

"Of course not," he admitted sheepishly, "But—"

"Well, until you've trained with him and we've all heard what he has to say about _you_, you can keep your judgements to yourself." Emrys told him.

"I don't think he's right about her," Luca said, after a pause. "I mean, she's never late, she never complains, she works hard…" He shrugged, looking up from his tea to look at Bas, for approval perhaps.

Bas shot a look at Emrys, then pressed his lips together and kept silent.

"Well, whatever else she is," Sten said into the silence, "she's definitely a brave one. I'd never have it in me to talk to Whitethorn like that, never mind dealing with the consequences after."

"That woman," Emrys said, gripping his mug, "has more courage and discipline in her than you give her credit for." He directed a sharp look at Bas. "I think she's had a hard life—a very hard life—and perhaps, if that male treated her better, it would do both of them some good."

Luca nodded sympathetically. "We heard them arguing on their way to training while we were out on sentry duty a few days ago," Luca told him, gesturing to himself and his two companions. "It was bad." Emrys frowned. It wasn't news to him but it saddened him all the same.

"Is it just me who finds her almost as terrifying as Whitethorn?" Sten asked in a near whisper.

"She's not _that_ bad!" Luca protested, "She's just quiet."

Bas almost choked on his bread. "Quiet?! You just said how much they argue. I swear: my vocabulary has doubled since they started training here—and it's all curses!"

"So you don't find her scary at all?" Sten asked Luca, ignoring Bas' outburst.

"No—I mean, not really…" Luca blushed, "Only a little."

Sten nodded, reading between the lines of what the boy said, then looked to Emrys.

"What?" he challenged. He wasn't going to speak badly of Elentiya. Sten shook his head. Emrys liked the man. He was mild mannered and attentive, taking the time to think through his words before he spoke. He was the opposite of Bas. Bas was popular with the younger residents at the fortress who found his outspoken personality daring and exciting, but Emrys saw it as nothing but impatient and brash. Bas spoke of Elentiya being undisciplined and yet missed the fact that he himself was at least as bad.

"You're saying you don't find her… Odd?" Bas asked him.

"When you've lived in a demi-Fae outpost as long as I have, boy, you stop finding things odd. People are just people, and they all just want the same things: a home, people to call a family and a full belly. It doesn't matter how different they are on the surface, they all want the same thing."

"She _is_ different though. You can't deny that," Bas countered.

Emrys sighed. "If you really want my opinion, she and the prince are very alike." Bas raised his eyebrows. "They're both powerful and dangerous and made of tougher stuff than you or I. And you'd do well to remember it."

* * *

Emrys finished his story, one that had elicited a fair few shrieks and one which he always loved telling for precisely that reason. The usual chatter started up as everyone began discussing which story they wanted next.

"Do you know any stories about Queen Maeve?"

The kitchen fell into silence.

Elentiya never spoke at dinner and the effect of it was this awed, somewhat scared silence, both because she'd spoken and because of what she'd asked.

She hadn't finished scrubbing the pots yet and Emrys was surprised to hear her speak at all while there were others in the kitchen, but she held his gaze unfalteringly until he smiled and answered.

He knew many stories of Maeve, of course, but it had been a long time indeed since someone had requested one.

When he asked her which she wanted to hear, she simply replied with, "The earliest ones that you know. All of them."

So Emrys told her, answering her questions whenever she asked them. The room had fallen silent around them but it didn't deter the girl in the least. Whatever it was that she was hoping to learn from this, he didn't know. Perhaps she didn't either, wouldn't know until she heard it.

Elentiya listened to every word, with an intent and focus that was almost predatory. She'd since finished the washing-up and sat down in her customary seat by the door, and Emrys was surprised at the weight of her stare as she listened. He could feel it like a physical sensation. He might as well have been talking to nobody but her, for all that the kitchen was still crowded.

Yes, there was power in this young woman. Not just magic, though he knew she had that aplenty, but a force of will to rival anyone.

It was because of that intense focus that Emrys noticed the moment something outside caught her attention just a moment before the prince flew off into the rainy night. No shouts of alarm went up from the sentries on watch, and Elentiya looked interested but not alarmed, so Emrys continued weaving his story. After watching whatever was going on outside for a moment with a soft frown on her face, Elentiya returned her attention to him and his stories.

He had to admit, even if just to himself, that it was a relief to see her slowly opening up.

She wasn't the only one who had arrived at Mistward or the other demi-Fae outposts with scars. Many needed time to heal and adjust. Given time, almost all found comfort and safety within the daily routines and the relaxed camaraderie here. Even those, like Elentiya, who preferred to keep to themselves were welcomed here.

Emrys hoped that this was just the start of the girl's healing, that one day he might see her smiling and relaxed.

Bidding her goodnight as he left the kitchen, his stories told, he felt that perhaps they were finally on that path.

That made the next morning all the more painful, he supposed.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Emrys had tried not to pay too much attention to the state that Elentiya was in when she arrived in the kitchen—and 'state' was the only word he knew to describe her. Her eyes looked vacant and she moved as though her limbs were nothing but dead weights. She was still wearing yesterday's clothes and looked as if she'd slept in them. Her braid, too was a mess of dishevelled strands. Not a word crossed her lips as she worked and he didn't miss the way that she was slower than usual, unfocused, just going through the motions.

Emrys tried not to ascribe too much to what was just a bad day. Bad days and setbacks were a normal part of healing: no good would come of seeing it as a step backwards.

If it had been Luca, as it once had been, he would have taken the lad and sat him by the hearth with a cup of tea and maybe a blanket, would have spoken with him and offered what comfort he could. But Elentiya was nothing like Luca. She wouldn't accept that kind of care from him.

She wanted space and he could give her that, even if it pained him.

Losing himself in kneading bread and stirring pots, Emrys let breakfast pass him by, only noticing how late it had become when Malakai entered with the last of the plates from the breakfast hall above.

Letting out a sigh now that breakfast was over, Emrys crossed the kitchen to kiss his mate and take a well deserved break.

"It looks like everyone is having a good day today," Malakai murmured once he'd taken a seat, aiming a pointed look at Elentiya where she stood numbly washing pots.

Luca, who had just come to join them, shot a concerned look her way and pressed his lips together in a grimace.

"You leave her be, Malakai," Emrys scolded softly, "You know how hard it is some days."

"I'm pretty sure you've you've made that excuse for her before…" Malakai murmured even more softly, but there was no bite to his words so Emrys settled on giving him a look before reaching for a nearby mug and teapot.

"Where did you go this morning?" Luca asked Malakai, having heard several iterations of this conversation play out in recent weeks and knowing that Emrys was glad of the change of subject.

Malakai grinned and Emrys couldn't help but smile at the joy on his mate's face.

"I was on patrol to the North-West," he answered. "It just happened to be market day." Malakai turned that grin on Emrys and it softened just slightly into something far more tender.

"I got you something," Malakai told him proudly. He reached into the small pack at his feet and pulled out a long object wrapped in cloth.

Emrys frowned with curiosity as he reached out for the gift, but his expression soon shifted into a smile as he unwrapped it.

It was a knife—a beautifully crafted knife with the most beautiful decorative grip.

He took his time admiring the handle with it's painstakingly crafted golden lotus flowers and the lapis lazuli inlay that formed the gentle waves of a river. It was truly a work of art.

"Malakai," he gasped, "It's beautiful." It was: both the knife and the gesture. He didn't have to say it—Malakai already knew how much this meant to him.

Behind him another plate was unceremoniously shoved into the drying rack, causing a clatter, and Emrys looked over at the young woman with her tired face and dead eyes.

He should include her. He knew she'd resist but he had to try. The poor girl was hardly putting a dent in the piles of plates, anyway. Yes, she'd done enough for today. He and Luca could finish the dishes before the boy had sentry training with Bas, and for now he'd try to get her to join them for a little while. Or, if she refused, she could go… Well, perhaps he could ask the prince for a day off for the girl and she could go rest. She was in no fit state to be dealing with the Warrior's gruelling training or sharp tongue today.

The thought steeled him. He wasn't comfortable about approaching Rowan, already knew he'd encounter resistance, but Elentiya had no one to stand up for her, and that didn't sit well with him.

He'd face the male. For her he'd face him.

But first he had to face her. Well, he thought, looking at the beautiful knife once more, at least I have a perfect conversation starter.

Emrys got to his feet, Luca and Malakai watching as he picked up the blade and approached the young woman.

"Look," he kept his voice mild as he spoke to her. She continued looking out the window. "Look what Malakai bought me."

The poor girl was in a daze, but she finally looked at his outstretched hands, at the blade laid across his palms.

Emrys saw the instant she registered what she was looking at and knew, just knew that this had been a mistake. The sheer despair that flashed through her eyes was painful to behold, and Emrys wished he could take this moment back, for all that he didn't understand the reason for it. Wished that he could make it so that she hadn't had to see the blade. But he couldn't, and before he could say anything—do anything—Malakai spoke up.

"I got it from a merchant from the southern continent. It came all the way from Eyllwe." Bless his mate for trying, but it was the wrong thing to say.

Whatever wound this knife had touched, it was deep and unhealed.

"I do not care," she snarled loudly, then nearly screamed it. The grief she felt, such soul deep grief, was suddenly written across her face and Emrys wanted to cry for the pain he saw there.

"Elentiya," Luca said from his seat at the table, "Don't be rude."

Dear Luca. Emrys loved the boy like a son, but the boy was off the mark on this. This wasn't rudeness. This was a person who was crumbling under the pain of their injuries, and whatever meaning this blade held for Elentiya, it had been one wound too many.

"I do not care about you. I do not care about your knife." Every word was hissed, as if it was an effort not to scream. "I do not care about your stories or your little kingdom." She looked at him again, ignoring Malakai and Luca as they came to flank him. "So leave me alone. Keep your gods-damned lives to yourselves and leave me alone."

Emrys couldn't fight the sting of tears as her voice rose to a broken shout.

She looked at the others then, and began to laugh. Not a laugh of amusement, but of pain and spite.

Then she turned on her heel and left.

Emrys felt Malakai wrap an arm around his shoulders, his body tense from the confrontation. On his other side, Luca turned to look at him, confusion, hurt and worry on his face.

Emrys didn't hear their words, though the tones of their voices told him enough. He just looked at the beautiful knife in his hands.

Perhaps they were right to be angry with her. Perhaps. But Emrys couldn't find it in himself to be angry at someone already so full of pain and despair and desperation.

Giving himself a moment to breathe, he let the tears fall, let himself grieve for the young woman who had been so broken by life.

No, he couldn't be angry at her. Hurt by her, yes, but not angry. But he knew whom he was angry at.

"Luca," he cut across their angry muttering, pulling himself together as much as he could, "Let's get these plates washed up." There was no point just standing here.

"Emrys—" Malakai started.

"Later, Malakai," Emrys stopped him, grasping the hand on his shoulder with his own and squeezing softly. "Later."

Even after the dishes were dried and put away, the counters scrubbed and the floor swept, it had taken a while to get Malakai to let him be alone. Emrys knew his mate meant well, and loved the man for it, but he'd needed time to think.

He knew his mate was angry at Elentiya but Emrys needed space to sort through his own emotions.

He'd replayed the morning's scene in his mind over and over. He'd twisted it this way and that, trying to figure out what he could have done differently and thereby, what he could do to try and undo some of the damage.

Each time he came up blank.

He knew what had triggered the princess, but that was merely the breaking point. And he couldn't take back the act of showing her the knife, no matter how much he wished it. More than that, she'd already been just one small push away from breaking before she'd even entered the kitchen that morning.

He was missing too much information.

So what else could he do? She wouldn't accept comfort from him and didn't have any friends here at the fortress. The only person Elentiya spent any amount of time with was Rowan, and Emrys suspected that Rowan was a big part of the problem.

At this point he had no idea what their relationship even was anymore. Certainly not just that of master and student, though he didn't know just how far past that line they'd gone.

That meant he needed to talk to the prince.

That was something that was easier said than done for Emrys.

Emrys wasn't like Malakai or Luca, both of whom were at ease taking on tasks such as sentry duty and learning to fight. Emrys had given up all of that after his first rotation in the kitchens. He'd found his calling here, took pleasure in caring for the people here in the fortress. And it had been a relief to remove himself from the charged atmosphere around many of the more aggressive demi-Fae, to get away from the constant snarling and teeth-baring that was almost as instinctual as breathing to the more dominant fortress residents.

Rowan made all of them look like lap-dogs beside a wolf.

Emrys hadn't ever had a conversation with the male, nothing beyond formalities, and most of those instances had been in recent weeks. In the decades Emrys had been here he'd never warranted the prince's attention.

But what kind of person was he if he didn't stand up for the girl? Whether she liked it or not, as long as she was helping him in the kitchen, he considered her one of his, in the same way that Luca was. And more than that, he knew he wouldn't be able to face her mother in the afterlife if he failed her daughter so terribly.

No, he couldn't watch Elentiya break and do nothing.

It was maybe an hour after Elentiya stormed out that the prince finally arrived in the kitchen, only given away by the sudden stillness in the air. Emrys wasn't quite ready to confront him, hadn't been ready to seek him out, but the way the male turned toward the door with nothing more than a nod was enough to stoke the anger in him.

"What are you doing?" The words were out before he could stop them. His voice steadier than he'd expected it to be, though it carried all the pain he felt.

"What?" Rowan stopped walking, turning on him with a sharp look.

"To that girl," he went on, not giving himself time to hesitate, voice quiet with anger and demand. "What are you doing that makes her come in here with such emptiness in her eyes?" Why are you working so hard to break her?

"That's none of your concern."

Of course that was the prince's response. He was answerable to no one but Maeve herself, but Elentiya was Emrys' concern, and he wasn't going to let this go. Instead, he tried a different angle. "What do you see when you look at her, Prince?"

A pause, then, "That's none of your concern, either."

Emrys ran a hand over his face, biting back the surge of anger. Rowan could shut him down at any moment. He had to get the prince to see, to understand. "I see her slipping away, bit by bit," he said, anger giving way to pain, "Because you shove her down when she so desperately needs someone to help her back up."

Rowan blinked, but his face was otherwise impassive, "I don't see why I would be of any use to—"

Did the male not see that he was the only one the girl interacted with? The only one she reached out to in the least?

No. Probably not. What was she but another mortal to him, there and gone in just a few short decades. If he didn't care for her, maybe then he should know that others did.

"Did you know," Emrys asked, changing tactics once more, "That Evalin Ashryver was my friend? She spent almost a year working in this kitchen—living here with us, fighting to convince your queen that demi-Fae have a place in your realm. She fought for our rights until the very day she departed this kingdom—and the many years after, until she was murdered by those monsters across the sea. So I knew. I knew who her daughter was the moment you brought her into this kitchen. All of us who were here twenty-five years ago recognized her for what she is." Emrys took a breath before continuing. "She has no hope, Prince. She has no hope left in her heart. Help her. If not for her sake, then at least for what she represents—what she could offer all of us, you included."

"And what is that?" he asked.

Emrys, for the first time in his long life, met the prince's eyes and held them as he said quietly, "A better world."

Rowan held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned and walked out the door.


	6. Chapter 6 - Luca

Hello again and thank you for reading! This chapter is a little different. This is from Luca's POV, because he sees just as much as Emrys and it seemed right to include him. This is part 1 of 2. Enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter 6_

**Luca Part 1**

Luca didn't consider himself unfit. He wasn't the most athletic of the fortress residents, but what did anyone expect when he was almost always in the kitchen? It wasn't like he couldn't keep up on the runs the off-duty sentries did, and he had enough muscle to carry out weapons training. Kinda.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder: had he ever been this self-conscious about how loud he was breathing?

Gods, Rowan was a mean bastard.

Luca had been training with Bas and the others when Elentiya's task-master had turned up, and Luca had almost been floored when the male addressed him.

Okay, so it wasn't like Rowan knew his _name_ or anything. The guy was old as dirt—he probably didn't have the space left in that head of his for names, or something. But he'd _spoken_ to him.

"I need your assistance in a training exercise." That'd been all the male had said, except to tell him to follow him. Honestly, Luca hadn't really had the opportunity to refuse, but even if he had, Rowan was scary enough that all he'd been able to do was nod.

And he never would have lived it down if he'd refused in front of everyone.

Rowan hadn't spoken a word since, in all the miles they'd trekked up into the mountains.

No wonder Elentiya had snapped. In fact, Luca was surprised she'd lasted this long. If it had been him dealing with this kind of attitude every day he would have gone off his rocker within days.

But then, well, he didn't like to nose into other people's business, but it was clear from the male's scent that he and Elentiya were more than just teacher and student. It wasn't like he needed to smell Rowan to know that: he'd been working in the kitchen with Elentiya enough that he'd known for a while. Almost from the first day she'd been there. But as it was, he _could_ smell it on Rowan, too. Not that he knew exactly what was actually going on, but he knew that _something_ was. If he was feeling particularly bold and stupid he might even have said they smelled like mates, the way they carried each others scents.

They finally reached a cave mouth and Luca let himself lean against the rock wall, trying his best not to give away that his legs felt like he'd left his bones behind. He knew he was failing miserably in his attempt, but no way was he going to show how exhausted he was. If one of Maeve's highest ranking commanders was going to see him close to collapsing, at least he'd see that Luca was trying.

Except, Rowan didn't seem to be paying him the least bit of attention, having wandered off into the gloom inside the cave.

Yep, he was definitely starting to understand Elentiya losing her marbles this morning. How did she deal with this day in and day out?

He looked after the male. Did the cave look as dark to Rowan as it did to him? Because Luca couldn't see _anything_. He could smell plenty though, and wished he couldn't. Sometimes he hated how sharp his sense of smell was: nobody else seemed to have half the problems he did.

Realising that Rowan wasn't coming out, Luca reluctantly followed the male inside, using his hand on the wall to both support and guide himself. He shivered as a wave of intensely cold air hit him, and wished he'd brought a jacket. He'd barely made it past fifty paces before something—Rowan, that was Rowan's scent—grabbed him by the shoulder of his tunic and hauled him forward.

"Where—Where's Elentiya?" he asked, hoping his voice only sounded that strangled to his own ears.

There was a pause during which he wondered if Rowan would answer him. Maybe Rowan was wondering the same. "I'm going to go find her in a minute."

"Oh." That didn't sound good. Did the male not even know where she was? How long—Luca yelped as his feet slid out from under him. He would have fallen if Rowan hadn't still been gripping a handful of his tunic.

"Wait! Wait!" Luca yelped as his feet slipped again, "I'll help with—with whatever this is, but tell me what's going on! I can't see anything!"

Thankfully, Rowan paused, letting him get his feet under himself again.

"Is this ice?" Luca asked, looking around blindly.

_Ah, so this is how Elentiya manages to talk to him the way she does: desperation and abject terror_, he thought to himself, musing that it had taken barely an hour of the male's company to make him throw caution to the wind. And _he_ wasn't even the Fae's student.

"Yes," Rowan answered. "Keep walking."

Luca was silently glad that Rowan didn't let go of his tunic until they stopped again. He had no way of judging his surroundings, except the distance to the cave entrance, and the ice was slick under his boots.

Releasing him, Rowan rummaged in his pack for a moment before dropping something that sounded worryingly like chains on the floor—not the floor, ice. God's above, if he was standing on ice, did that mean there was water underneath?

"Sit," Rowan commanded as he maneuvered Luca around until he was facing the distant entrance.

Luca would have protested, had he not just noticed a blanket under his feet. Was this what Rowan considered 'explaining'?

"What am I doing here?" he asked as he lowered himself to the blanket.

"Elentiya needs to work on her control. I believe having more than her own well-being on the line will help her"

Gods, this was getting worse by the moment. That had sounded an awful lot like he was, or was going to be, in some kind of danger. "This _is_ safe, right?"

"Yes."

Luca swallowed. "So, um… Is this going to take long?"

"That depends on her." Right. Great. Rowan had such a reassuring way with words. Luca heard as the metal clanked again. Chains. Definitely chains. "I'm going to cuff you and seal the chain in the ice. Elentiya will have to free you."

Oh good gods, the male was a lunatic. "You mean—you mean you're going to chain me to the ice _while_ _you go and look for her_?" This was the kind of death even Hellas didn't dole out. No, this was the kind of suffering that Anneith alone dreamed up.

Well, Anneith and apparently Rowan Whitethorn.

Oh, he was never going to judge Elentiya again. Rowan really did live up to the rumours about him, and he'd been "training" Elentiya for weeks. How had she held it together until today?

"Yes."

He could do this. It'd help Elentiya and he figured she could use all the help she could get right now. He remembered how hard his first months at Mistward had been, the help he'd received from so many of his now friends. And he hadn't been dealing with with Rowan "Chatterbox" Whitethorn. The least he could do was help her. She'd been out of line this morning, but, well, he wanted to help her.

Then another thought popped into his head, borne from a slightly insane part of his brain that had seemingly been emboldened by Rowan's own insanity. He'd get to see her magic. Everyone had been wondering about her magic. Now he'd get to see it. That was worth the cold and the dark and the danger, he told himself.

"O—okay!"

Rowan stood, blocking out the light from the entrance.

"Wait!" Luca blurted. "You don't have any food or anything, do you? For… while you're gone…"

"No." A flat answer. Rowan started to turn, then stopped and sighed. "I'll find you something once we're done."

"Thank you," Luca said, and found himself meaning it.

* * *

Okay, so maybe the promise of food and the chance to see Elentiya's magic had been too low a price for what he was being put through.

He didn't know how long he'd been alone for, but his legs were tingling from sitting so long like this, and his fingers, nose, toes and ears were almost numb with cold. And he was so, so hungry.

He'd been in the dark long enough that even _his_ eyes had adjusted and he really wasn't sure if that was a good thing. The cave was enormous and filled with discarded weapons and, strangely, clothes. There didn't seem to be any sign of life. At all.

Beneath him there was nothing but black and Luca tried really, really hard not to think of how much water was under him. Not with the ice-cold cuffs around his wrists. If the ice gave way he'd go straight down.

Instead he mumbled to himself about all the things he had to do when he got back to the fortress. After he'd completed his mental lists, he instead started playing out the conversation he'd have if Emrys or Malakai learned of this. Nope. That wasn't a conversation he wanted to have, but he could already imagine the faces of his friends when he told them about how he'd helped with Elentiya's training. He could just skip the unending waiting when he told them. And his complaints about the cold. That was just boring.

Eventually, he heard voices outside, echoing off the walls of the cave.

"What in every burning ring of hell are we doing here?" A woman's voice. Elentiya. Distorted though it was, he recognised Elentiya's voice. And the irritation in it.

A tall, broad body appeared in the light of the cave mouth, nothing more than a silhouette. "Hurry up."

Good to know Rowan spoke to everyone like that.

A second, smaller person entered the cave mouth, arms wrapped around itself. Elentiya was tall, but Rowan dwarfed her all the same.

She staggered slightly in the darkness as she followed after Rowan, but Rowan didn't grab her the same way he had Luca. Did he think she didn't need the help or did he just not care if she fell flat on her face?

"Tell me I'm hallucinating," she said, coming to a stop. Luca could barely make out her face at this distance in the gloom, but he was sure she was gaping.

Luca raised his hand in a wave, but was yanked to an abrupt halt by the chain embedded in the ice. "I thought you'd never show. I'm _freezing_," he called out, relief flooding him as he finally saw an end to this freezing hell in sight.

Elentiya looked at him for a long moment, then turned her head to look at Rowan. "What is this place?"

"Go get him." Rowan said, ignoring her question.

"Are you out of your mind?"

Luca felt like telling her that he was certain Rowan really was out of his mind, based on the last couple of hours. But he was too stunned at the way she could stand that close to the male and talk to him like that. Rowan was scary. More than scary even, and Luca didn't think he knew another person brave enough to challenge the male.

She looked back at him and started walking, but Rowan blocked her path with an arm. "In your other form." His voice was low enough that Luca struggled to make out the words. Elentiya's voice was barely even a whisper of indistinguishable sound. "You've been living in a fortress of demi-Fae, you know. He won't care." Came Rowan's response.

Elentiya was a private person, Luca knew, but did she really worry about him—or anyone in Mistward—seeing her shift? Did she really worry they'd care?

Instead of shifting, she raised her voice at Rowan, turning to face him fully, ignoring his still outstretched arm as she squared up to him.

Luca would have been impressed if he wasn't suddenly intimidated at the prospect of where this was going to end. And if he hadn't still been shivering out on the ice.

"How dare you drag him into this?" she demanded.

"You dragged him in yourself when you insulted him—and Emrys." How did he even know what had happened? Or was he just making a very accurate guess? It wasn't like Elentiya had actually insulted Luca, but… "The least you can do is retrieve him."

Luca's stomach rumbled and he decided to hell with caution. Rowan hadn't bitten his head off earlier when he'd demanded answers, and the two of them were far too involved with arguing with each other. Or maybe just far too involved with each other. "I hope you brought snacks! I'm starving," he called out, "Hurry up, Elentiya. Rowan said you had to do this as part of your training, and I didn't really have a choice and I'm freezing out here!" Once he started he found he couldn't stop.

But the two of them were still talking, quietly enough that he couldn't hear. The conversation went on longer this time and neither lost their temper.

Oh yeah, there was something going on there. No doubt about it.

Elentiya held out her hand to Rowan, palm up as if demanding something. He merely shook his head.

"Don't give me a lesson like you're some mystical-nonsense master!" Elentiya snapped, voice loud enough for Luca to hear once more, "This is the stupidest thing I have ever had to—" Her words were drowned out by a groan of ice that had Luca panicking a little. He saw the grin on the male's face and wondered just what he'd let himself get roped into.

Elentiya turned from Rowan and started heading for the ice at long last. "You are a _bastard_." She hissed beat him.

A flash of light lit the cave and Elentiya shifted.


	7. Chapter 7 - Luca

I´m so glad you enjoyed the chapter from Luca's POV. As you know, this part is more serious, so it's not quite as quirky, but I hope you still enjoy it. A huge big thank you to those of you who take the time to review, it really does mean so much to me!

* * *

_Chapter 7_

**Luca - Part 2**

Luca gaped. Well, _that_ wasn't what he'd expected. Rather than shifting into an animal, she'd… stayed the same. That was odd. But Rowan didn't say any more, so she _must _have shifted.

"I was waiting to see your Fae form!" he called to her, knowing that she needed the reassurance and hiding his confusion for her sake. "We were all taking bets on when you'd finally show us, and what your other form was! I thought you were a bird and that's why Rowan was training you, but this is even better—no one even came close to guessing." She turned to growl something at Rowan while he was talking, and the male just held her gaze impassively as he answered. Elentiya gave him a vulgar gesture, then finally, _finally _started crossing the ice towards him.

Honestly, Luca expected the ice to vanish from under the both of them for that gesture, and prepared himself to gasp in a breath if he found himself plunging into the dark water beneath him.

Elentiya stalled momentarily, looking down at the ice underneath her and her breath hitched. Apparently Rowan heard it too, because a moment later the ice was groaning. Groaning, then cracking in loud bursts. She gaped and Luca did too as the cracks formed around her feet. Big cracks.

She stayed still for a moment longer, then took another step.

The second her foot stopped on the ice, it began cracking again.

"Stop it." She hissed the words but Luca could hear the command in them. The authority in her voice was such that Luca wondered just who and what she'd been before Mistward.

Her face paled just a moment before the ice let out another groan, longer this time and somehow different. That wasn't Rowan's doing. That was her.

"Elentiya?" Luca asked her, but she held up a hand to him and it carried all the command her voice had just moments before. Despite himself he fell silent.

He watched her as she closed her eyes and breathed. Calming herself. Then she began humming to herself as she started moving again. She only made it a few feet before she came to a stop. She was staring at the ice, but Luca could see enough at this distance to know she wasn't really seeing it at all.

"Elentiya?" he tried again, desperate now to get off the ice. He didn't miss as the ice around her began to turn white, then crack.

"_You_ are in control now," Rowan told her from the bank, voice softer than Luca had yet heard. Reassuring. He was reassuring her. "_You_ are its master." Another crack spread through the ice, larger this time, and Luca couldn't help but fidget for all he felt like he was intruding on something he shouldn't be a part of. "You are the keeper of your own fate."

She started humming again, a different tune now, and it seemed to calm her enough that she relaxed a little. Enough apparently, that she shot a look at Rowan over her shoulder.

Luca barely kept himself from squirming as she crossed the last of the space between them. His eyes widened as he saw her face and he saw what he'd missed earlier: she hadn't stayed the same when she'd shifted—he'd known _something _had to have changed, but had expected nothing more than pointed ears, or for some other feature to have changed slightly. But no. She was as Fae as Rowan right now. More Fae than anyone at the fortress.

"You have nothing to hide, you know," he said at last. "We all knew you could shift anyway." Maeve wouldn't have assigned one of her blood-sworn for anything less. "And if it makes you feel any better, Sten's animal form is a pig. He won't even shift for shame."

Her lips twitched slightly and Luca felt a burst of pride and joy, but she stayed silent and unmoving.

Not wanting her to get lost in her thoughts again he said, "Erm, I'll forgive every awful thing you said earlier if we can go eat something right now. It smells awful in here."

"Just hold still and stop talking," she ordered, voice sharp. But she knelt in front of the chains, placing her hand on the ice where it held the metal. Elentiya gave him an assessing once over. A moment later the faintest hint of a red glow appeared in the ice under her palm, growing and growing until the ice gave a mighty crack and he yelped, flinching away.

"Control!" Rowan snapped at her, still on the bank, but Luca couldn't look away.

Elentiya moved her hand to reveal a hole in the ice. She'd _melted _it. Holy gods, she didn't have ice like Rowan at all. She had _fire_.

Before Luca could gather his wits enough to say anything, she replaced her hand over the ice and released her power.

Luca felt the instant she'd worked through the ice and the full weight of the chain pulled on his wrists. He hauled the chains out and thanked the gods. "Please tell me you brought food," Luca asked again.

"Is that why you came?" she demanded, "Rowan promised you snacks?"

Well, no, but "I'm a growing boy." He winced and shot a quick glance at Rowan. "And you don't say no to him."

Anger flashed over her face, but then she sighed and looked down.

Luca saw the second the colour drained from her face and then she was cursing, cursing enough to make him splutter.

"Get off the ice _now_," she breathed, somehow more insistent for the quietness with which she said it.

Luca got to his feet, then saw what she was looking at. "Holy gods, what _is_ that?"

"Shut up and go," she ordered. She was right, he _knew _she was right, but he couldn't move. That was an eye looking up at them. Red and glowing and hungry.

"Now, Luca." Rowan. How could he even see from there? Maybe he couldn't. Maybe he just trusted Elentiya enough not to question.

Luca knew he should be moving, but instead his eyes were locked on the creature swimming out of the depths towards them. Elentiya seemed just as frozen in place. Luca started to tremble.

In a fluid surge of movement, Elentiya was on her feet and gripping his elbow, the groaning of the ice now a secondary concern. "Don't look down," she told him, then gave him a push. "_Go_."

Suddenly, Luca was moving, struggling not to fall with the momentum of her push. His feet were slipping on the ice and though he did his best, his progress was slow.

He was halfway to she shore when Rowan barked, "_Faster_!"

Despite himself, Luca turned to see what was following them, only to find that Elentiya hadn't moved yet. His foot started slipping out from under him, twisted and distracted as he was, but then Elentiya started moving. Luca looked ahead and kept moving.

Suddenly the ice under him jumped, actually surged upwards, and he fell to his hands and knees, losing precious seconds as he scrambled on the slick ice, trying to get back to his feet and ignoring the burst of pain. He'd barely gotten his balance when the ice moved again.

To his horror, the ice to either side of him began to melt, first at the edges his vision, but rapidly moving inwards, but—but the way ahead remained. Remained, then thickened.

Rowan was strengthening the ice ahead.

"Weapon," Luca heard Elentiya gasp out behind him, and Rowan slid one of the discarded swords from the bank at her.

What did she think she was going to do with a sword? Fight the thing? Why would she even want the weight of a sword slowing her down?

The ice surged again, harder this time, and Luca's feet slid out from under him. He twisted as he fell, enough to see Elentiya ride out the jolt, staying afoot with truly feline grace. Had Rowan strengthened the ice more under her than he had under Luca, or was she just _that_ good?

He got his answer moments later as she reached him and hauled him up by the back of his tunic, urging him onwards, even as the ice under them jolted and jumped, over and over. She didn't let go, not even as the creature smashed its way through the ice behind them, showering them in freezing water and chunks of ice. Not until they made it to the shore, when she stopped to look back and Luca, knowing he'd regret it if he survived and ever wanted to sleep again, looked too.

It was hideous. Hideous and enormous and utterly other. Whatever this thing was, it looked like it had slithered through a hole in the world, like in the stories Emrys hardly ever told because they were just too terrifying. It was white and sickly looking, with a mouth far bigger than anything had a right to. Luca felt his knees go weak.

Then Elentiya grabbed him again, pulling him out, out, out into the sunlight, then down the rocky mountain trail. He was swearing or praying to the gods with every step, both because of fear and because she was moving so fast he couldn't get his feet under him at all, instead staggering along as she supported all his weight. Then they were in the trees and instead of slowing down like he'd expected—at least enough to let him run on his own—she sped up. They were moving too fast for Luca to be able to react to the trees or rocks on the ground and with each step he expected them to fall.

Gods, what _was _she? He'd never seen anyone run this fast, yet she was hauling him along as if he weighed no more than a pack.

He was gasping for air by the time they slowed down. "Go ahead," she said, breathing heavily but not nearly winded enough, "And keep your mouth shut! You don't speak a word of this to anyone, understand?" The way she was baring her teeth at him, her eyes alight with anger and the magic inside her, she was terrifying. Glorious and terrifying.

He didn't have the breath to spare for a response but nodded, then staggered on through the forest.

When he emerged from the trees a few moments later he didn't believe his eyes: Mistward. He was back at Mistward. That—that was impossible. The cave was miles away! There was no way they could have made it back so fast.

Yet here he was.

Luca gave himself a moment to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. He'd just started moving again when he heard an argument break out behind him. He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should go back, but no. Elentiya had told him to go, had waited for Rowan specifically so they could talk—or argue—without him there.

He made his way to the kitchen, his favourite place in the fortress, and spun some story about being out with Bas and falling in a pond and racing the others back home to explain the state he was in. He was pretty convincing, he decided.

When Elentiya and Rowan entered the best part of half an hour later, Luca flat out gaped at their bloody faces and torn clothes. Then he decided he was glad he hadn't gone back and took a gulp of tea.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

Emrys lost count of just how many loaves of bread he baked that day, or how many batches of biscuits, as he took out all his frustration and worry and anger on the balls of dough.

He didn't want to stop, because every time he did he relived the scenes from that morning.

He didn't want to see Elentiya's face as she took in the knife. Didn't want to hear that bitter laughter. Didn't want to see Rowan's impassive face as he was confronted with the damage he was doing to that young woman. Didn't want to see the concern on Lucas face. Didn't want to see the anger on Malakai's. Didn't want to feel his own hurt.

So he kept busy.

When it became clear he was getting close to making too much for even the appetites of the many demi-Fae, he set himself to cleaning. Not that the kitchen wasn't already clean, but it felt good to be scrubbing away at the worn old surfaces.

Finally he started on the stews he'd planned for dinner.

Emrys had just finished the last stew when Malakai reappeared, and this time Emrys didn't shoo him away. His nerves had settled a little with all the work, and it felt good to have his mate there. He felt more grounded for the man's presence.

Malakai whistled at the number of loaves on the far counter, before wandering over and picking one up.

Emrys, reckoning it was as good a time to eat as any, prepared a teapot and left it to steep on the long table, before filling two bowls with stew and setting them beside one another in front of the tea pot.

Malakai appeared at his side a moment later, mugs, utensils and honey in hand.

For the first time since that morning, Emrys felt his chest loosen and took a deep breath. This was a routine of theirs, something that didn't need words to be coordinated, and as Malakai sat beside him, Emrys reached for his hand and squeezed it gently.

There was contentment in being beside his mate, and maybe he'd been a fool to send him away that morning. But they were together now.

* * *

They'd barely finished their meal, two other sentries having joined them as they were eating, Malakai still standing at the sink where he'd just placed Emrys' bowl, setting his own on the side for when he took a second helping, when Luca entered the kitchen.

"By the gods boy, what happened?" Malakai asked before Emrys could.

"I, er… I fell in a pond…" Luca mumbled, eyes not meeting theirs as he blushed.

Indeed, his clothes were still wet and his hair was in messy disarray.

Emrys wasted no time in telling the boy to sit by the hearth and was soon pressing a steaming bowl of stew and half a loaf of bread into his hands.

Unsurprisingly, Luca all but inhaled it, as he was wont to do these days, and Emrys replaced the bowl with a mug of sweetened tea as soon as he was done eating.

In the meantime, Malakai had added extra logs to the fire and as a result, by the time he was done, there were already dry patches appearing on his clothes.

Of course, Malakai quizzed the boy on just what had happened, but whatever it was, Luca was too embarrassed to divulge much information. Just boyish pranks and nonsense, Emrys suspected.

The back door opened again and Emrys turned to greet the newcomers, but froze as he took in the sight before him. Behind him Malakai let out a hearty curse.

He didn't know where to look first.

Both of them were bloody, bruised, dishevelled and filthy. What in the names of the gods had they done?

What exactly had Whitethorn been thinking? Had he not listened to a word Emrys had said that morning? Emrys met his eyes, and as he held the gaze he could have sworn he saw the faintest hint of a blush appear on the male's cheeks. Good.

He waited until they were inside and the door was shut before he spoke. "I've never seen such a sorry sight, blood and dirt and leaves over every inch of you both."

He looked more closely at Elentiya now. Gods above, she'd taken a beating, but—she'd shifted. He took in the sharpness of her features, the way she stood more still. He'd never heard of a Fae having a human form, but there she was, as Fae as the male beside her for all she'd been wholly human just that morning. Knowing what he did of Adarlan, that had probably saved her life.

He noticed Rowan watching him, even more still than usual. Predatory, that's what that look was. He was waiting to see if Emrys would say something about the girl. Bah, Emrys knew better.

Deciding he wasn't yet ready to talk, he went to the stove instead, where he filled two of his biggest bowls, grabbed two spoons and walked back to the table before setting the bowls down forcefully.

He didn't raise an eyebrow at the fact they moved to the same side, nor at how they stood close enough their elbows nearly brushed, despite having more than enough space around them.

"No better than alley cats, brawling at all hours of the day and night," Emrys said, "Eat, both of you. And then get cleaned up. Elentiya, you're off kitchen duty tonight and tomorrow."

The young woman opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, silencing her before she could utter a sound. "I don't want you bleeding on everything. You'll be more trouble than you're worth."

She grimaced as she sat down on the bench beside Rowan and swore harshly. Then swore at the male beside her.

"Clean out you mouth too, while you're at it," Emrys snapped at her as he moved over to the hearth and the loaves of bread stacked on the counter beside it.

To his side, he noticed Luca attempting to gesture something to her. Stopping the motion, the boy and he tapped his ear. Emrys turned back around in time to see realisation spark in Elentiya's eyes and she glanced around the room at the others.

Elentiya shot a look at Malakai, who just shrugged and turned away. Then she looked at him, challenge in her eyes. When he didn't react she started eating.

"Makes no difference to me," he said as he placed a loaf on the table before them, "Whether your ears are pointy or round, or what your teeth look like." He paused for a moment, debating the wisdom of what he wanted to say next. Finally he decided he was too old to worry about offending two idiots who were acting like children. Rowan was old enough to know better: if he chose to act this way despite that, he deserved to hear it. "But, I can't deny I'm glad to see you got in a few punches this time."

Emrys didn't flinch when Rowan's head shot up, his eyes settling on him. But, now that he had both their attentions…

"Don't you think you've had enough of beating each other into a pulp? What good does it accomplish," he went on, ignoring his mate stiffening in his seat at the other table, "Other than providing me with a scullery maid whose face scares the wits out of our sentries?" More than a few of the fortress residents were scared of Elentiya. "You think any of us like to hear you two cursing and screaming every afternoon? The language you use is enough to curdle all the milk in Wendlyn."

To his genuine surprise, Rowan lowered his gaze and mumbled something that sounded like an apology into his stew. As far as apologies went, it was a poor likeness of one, but it was more than he'd expected from the immortal.

Beside him, Elentiya's lips tugged into an involuntary smile, just for a moment.

Then she was on her feet and walking to him. Once in front of him, she got to her knees. "I'm so sorry for the way I treated you this morning. I'm sorry for all of my behaviour—all of it. You've treated me with nothing but kindness and I've repaid all of it withrudeness and I'm so, so sorry.

"This isn't who I am, and I know better. There's no excusing how I've treated you—how I've treated you _all_, and I'll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness, if you even _can _forgive me."

She went on until Emrys placed a hand on her shoulder. "I accept your apology, Elentiya," he said.

An apology didn't fix anything. It didn't numb the ache in his chest from what had happened that morning, nor erase the weeks of worry and the cold treatment she'd given him.

But it was a start.

She walked to Luca then, getting to her knees and offering him an apology, then Malakai.

"Do you know, Elentiya," Emrys started, deciding she deserved to know, "That your mother spent a year here, twenty-five years ago?" She hadn't known, it turned out. "She was a friend of mine. A very dear friend."

She sat back down at the table, tearing off a hunk of bread and settling in to listen as he told her of her mother's time there. Of her warmth and joy and fierce determination to fight for what was right.

And for all he could see the anxiety in her eyes at the idea he might strip away her anonymity, he could see joy there, too.

Yes, this was a start.


	9. Chapter 9

Here's another chapter for you! I have family visiting for the next too many weeks but I'll try to keep the updates coming daily, but they might be shorter than before.

Enjoy!

_Chapter 9_

Emrys had long since finished preparing dinner for that night, and as he'd spoken various people had come to the kitchen to haul it upstairs to the dining hall. Now, the last of the plates and bowls were being brought back down to where Elentiya had already taken up her position at the sink.

It seemed today really was a day for surprises. Rowan, in the last move Emrys would have expected, took up position beside the young woman and started washing up the pots and pans with an attention to detail that seemed almost out of place.

Elentiya relaxed as he did so, as if a weight had been taken from her.

Emrys had returned to his seat at the table with Malakai, Luca beside him and the sentries having cleared out some time ago.

Luca was grinning at the pair at the sink, and Emrys wondered if perhaps the boy wasn't as oblivious to the two of them as he'd thought. He and Malakai had discussed—or rather, speculated over—their relationship a number of times already, but never with anyone else. He hadn't realised Luca had noticed anything, yet that grin said otherwise.

Elentiya saw him, then looked to Emrys. "We had an adventure today."

He took a moment to sort through her words, the fact that she'd volunteered the information and started the conversation.

Beside him, Malakai said, "Let me guess: it had something to do with that roar that sent the livestock into pandemonium."

For a moment it looked like Elentiya might smile. She didn't, but her face was softer than he'd seen it, happier. She looked to Emrys again and asked, "What do you know of a creature that dwells in the lake under…" She looked to Rowan for a name.

"Bald Mountain," he said, not looking up, "And he can't know that story. No one does."

So much for being contrite.

"I am a Story Keeper," Emrys said, "And that means that the tales I collect might not come from Fae or human mouths, but I hear them anyway." There weren't many things that could rile him so thoroughly, but to insinuate that there was a story of these lands he didn't know? Well, that was certainly at the top of the list of the things that could.

"I heard one story, years ago," he explained, "From a fool who thought he could cross the Cambrian Mountains and enter Maeve's realm without invitation.

"He was on his way back, barely clinging to life thanks to Maeve's wild wolves in the passes, so we brought him here while we sent for the healers."

Malakai looked at him, eyes twinkling at the memory of how they met, "So that's why you wouldn't give him a moment's peace." Emrys couldn't help but smile back at him. He still thanked whatever god, goddess, fate or fortune it was that had brought them together, each and every day.

"He had a fierce infection, so at the time I thought it might have been a fever dream, but he told me he found a cave at the base of the Bald Mountain. He camped there, because it was raining and cold and he planned to be off at first light. Still, he felt like something was watching him from the lake. He drifted off, and awoke only because the ripples were lapping against the shore—ripples from the center of the lake. And just beyond the light of his fire, out in the deep, he spied something swimming. Bigger than a tree or any beast he'd ever seen."

"Oh, it was horrific," Luca exclaimed, face in an expression of aghast disbelief that changed to horror as he realised what he'd said.

"You said you were out with Bas and the other scouts on border patrol today!" Emrys barked, eyes jumping from the boy to the male responsible for all this mess. How many times had he dragged Luca into the shambles he called training?

Emrys pushed down the anger. The male, unlikely as it was, had apologised, had seemed to see the errors in his attitude and behaviour. He deserved a chance to show he could do better. Just one, mind.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, willing his muscles to relax and focusing back on the story. He ignored Luca's bashful expression. He'd talk to him later.

"What the fool learned that night was this: the creature was almost as old as the mountain itself," he went on. "It claimed to have been born in another world, but had slipped into this one when the gods were looking elsewhere." He had many stories like this. Too many. There were things in the world so foul he wished he'd never heard their stories

"It had preyed upon Fae and humans until a mighty Fae warrior challenged it. And before the warrior was through, he carved one of the creature's eyes out—for spite or sport—and cursed the beast, so that as long as that mountain stood, the creature would be forced to live beneath it. So it has dwelled in the labyrinth of underwater caves under the mountain. It has no name—for it forgot what it was called long ago, and those who meet it do not return home." That Malakai had escaped alive was nothing short of a testament to his good luck and sharp mind.

Rowan was giving him another of those predatory looks, but it was different to the last. This was a predator reevaluating a creature it had previously written off as insignificant, perhaps considering his usefulness. Then he looked at Elentiya, held her gaze as he asked, "Who was the warrior who carved out its eye?"

"The fool didn't know," Emrys answered, watching the pair with interest. "And neither did the beast. But the language it spoke was Fae—an archaic form of the Old Language, almost indecipherable. It could remember the gold ring he bore, but not what he looked like."

At the mention of the ring there was a spark of… something in the prince's eyes, and Elentiya paled slightly. Should he ask? Neither of them was the type to volunteer information, after all, but he felt like this was something between the two of them.

Dropping the eye contact, Rowan reached for his water, the dishes finished and put away. If Emrys hadn't been watching so carefully, he would have missed the prince's slight wince. But he didn't. He saw it.

"No more adventures." He looked the male in eyes as he spoke, willed him to see every shred of determination behind those words.

To his surprise—his surprise seemed never ending today—Rowan looked not to Elentiya, but to Luca, before he agreed.

"And no more brawling," Emrys pressed on.

This time the Fae did look at Elentiya, who met his gaze. Something passed between the two, then he answered, not breaking eye contact as he spoke. "We'll try."


	10. Chapter 10

Hello again! Here's another short chapter for you. Thank you, thank you, thank you to those of you who have reviewed, it really is the best feeling to read them! I hope you like this chapter. I wrote and scrapped a few versions of it before I settled on this one which means i haven't gotten as much done on the next chapter as I'd hoped to. Because of that I can't promise I'll update tomorrow, but I'll do my best. In the mean time, grab your favourite drink and a snack, and enjoy!

_Chapter 10_

Just two days later Elentiya was back in the kitchens. Her split knuckles had mostly healed and the multitude of bruises had faded away to leave mottled yellow splotches.

She'd been quiet but pleasant in the days since her return. Whatever her reasons were for wanting to enter Doranelle, she didn't share them, nor any of her own history, but she was polite and cordial with anyone who addressed her. It made for a nice change from the sharp glances and pointed silences of before.

Whatever happened the day of the so called 'adventure', it had been a turning point for the young woman.

The daily shouting matches between her and Rowan had ceased. Now, the two could often be found walking through the halls upon their return each night, deep in conversation.

The nightly stories continued, winding through Maeve's history, step by step. Elentiya always listened intently, asking questions when she felt the story was too vague and always requesting another.

In no time Beltane was upon them. Emrys roped in all of the available residents to help in the kitchen. Between them they chopped veritable mountains of vegetables, filled pies, cooked pastries, roasts, biscuits and cakes, just to name a few. Then everything was hauled to the nearby plateau where all the celebrations were held.

Emrys was too old to be carrying platters all the way up there and left the work to the younger helpers, and by the time he made it to the plateau on the eve of the celebration, Malakai at his side, the sun was near to setting and many of the demi-Fae had arrived.

There were a number of familiar faces from other outposts gathered around the three bonfires, all chattering excitedly, eagerly exchanging news of all the goings on since Samhuin.

Time flew by as he and Malakai caught up with friends and the dancing started, those wishing for luck and good fortune leaping over the smaller bonfires.

He'd heard people marvelling over the fires, how they seemed to be burning but never consuming the piles of wood assembled for the purpose.

Luca hadn't actually said much about the training he'd been roped into by Rowan. For all he was naturally verbose, where that day was concerned he'd only explained that he'd had to sit and wait for Elentiya to free him, and that Elentiya was 'unbelievable', though he hadn't elaborated further. He'd never said whether or not he'd seen her magic or what magic she had. But Emrys suspected the fires were her doing.

She was the heir of the Galathynius line and an Ashryver, too. Both lines were known for their magic, and Brannon's gift of fire was something nobody was going to forget. If there was a mystery fire-wielder here, it was her.

He could see her, stood on the other side of the fire, Rowan at her side, the revellers giving them both a wide berth. It only reaffirmed his impression of her: even amongst demi-Fae she stood apart and not only because of her attitude.

Hours passed in a blur of laughter and joy. He danced with his mate until his old bones ached, then they drank and sang with friends until the fires were nothing more than embers, Elentiya and Rowan having long since left.

Tiredness creeping up on them both at long last they left the remaining revellers and headed for home. The walk home was slow, the ground barely visible underfoot, and uneven, but they weren't in any rush.

Malakai chuckled as a young couple passed them, "I think it's safe to say a lot of them won't be finding their own beds tonight."

Emrys just grinned, watching the pair fondly as they disappeared into the darkness ahead. "Oh," he sighed wistfully, "To be young and in love…"

"I don't think love comes into it," Malakai quipped, but Emrys could see the laughing grin on his face and the fond, sideways look his mate was giving him.

"Perhaps not, but we all had to start somewhere."

Malakai wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in to lay a kiss on his temple before releasing him and catching his hand again. The days where either of them could walk at such an ungainly angle were long gone, but the love between them wasn't.

The walked along in comfortable silence, stars occasionally peeking through the foliage and a gentle summer breeze setting the leaves rustling. It was the perfect end to the night.

They arrived at the fortress and entered through the kitchen: itt was always better to leave the bread oven fire burning, and Emrys wanted to feed it another log.

There was a woman at the stove, her greying brown hair tied up in a messy knot as if she'd tied it back in a rush. She wore a pretty, deep blue dress, a clean apron from the pantry covering the front as she added something to a pot on the stove.

A healer.

No sooner had he recognised her, than a second younger woman walked out of the pantry, a tin of spice in her hands.

"Emrys, Malakai" she greeted them, voice calm and soft as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Diane," Malakai nodded. Emrys couldn't remember meeting her before, but he recognised Melinda, even from behind.

"Is someone unwell?" Emrys asked. He hadn't noticed anyone being ill or getting injured, but he hadn't exactly been paying attention.

Diane nodded. "A burn-out. We're making a pain relief tonic now." With that, she reached for the mortar and pestle and measured out a tablespoon of the spice.

Who could have burnt out? Nobody had been using their magic, unless someone had been doing party tricks. But someone with enough power to need a healer? There wasn't anyone—

No, there _was_ someone, he realised as a hollow feeling grew in his chest.

"Elentiya? Is she alright?"

Malakai placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"It was close, but she'll be right as rain with a few days of rest." It was Melinda who answered this time. She was one of the senior healers and was an old friend of his, but he knew she wouldn't tell him much.

"Was it bad?" Malakai asked, hoping she'd at least give him that much information.

"I expect she'll be well enough to take visitors tomorrow. She can tell you more if she wants to," she answered in her usual no-nonsense way. In all the years he'd known her, he'd never seen her flustered when dealing with or discussing a patient. But the fact that she hadn't denied the severity of what had happened told him enough, and he could tell from her answer that he wouldn't get much more than that from her.

It hit him then: Elentiya could have died and he hadn't even noticed. The poor girl. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like for her. How would it feel to be so far from home, all your family gone, all alone, and to have gone through something so awful.

"Gods above," he murmured, then more loudly he asked, "Is there anything she needs? Anything I can do for her? Is someone with her?" Malakai squeezed his shoulder in warning.

He knew his mate wanted him to keep his distance from the Terrasen heir. It wasn't that Malakai disliked her, rather that he was protective—sometimes to the point where it was aggravating—and Malakai didn't want Emrys taking on the burden of someone trapped in such a downward spiral. Emrys knew he had a tendency to care too much—he knew it, but he couldn't stop. Malakai helped him keep perspective and it was something he loved his mate for.

Unfortunately, in this case, where Emrys saw a young woman in dire need of support, Malakai saw an opportunity for Emrys to get far too involved in a situation with no positive outcome in sight. And while Emrys could well understand his reasoning, he just didn't have it in him not to help her.

Before either of the healers could answer, Malakai said "She's in good hands, Love. Let Melinda deal with this." His voice held a forced lightness.

Melinda nodded, but said. "She's through the worst of it. Now she just needs rest. Prince Rowan is monitoring her: I have no doubt he knows what he's doing." She smiled at Emrys then, a genuine smile. "I know this is easier said than done, but try not to worry too much." Yes, she knew him well after all these years. "But make sure she eats well in the next few days," she went on and Emrys smiled faintly at the small kindness. "She'll be just fine. I think the prince will take good care of her."

Emrys nodded. "Do you need anything?" he asked. "Do you need help finding anything?"

Looking over her shoulder from where she was monitoring the tonic, Diane smiled. "We're almost done here." She pointed to a selection of small bowls set neatly in a row. "I've prepared enough herbs for the next few days. Do you know how to prepare it?" He nodded. "It's stronger than the usual preparation. You won't want to give it to anyone else: they might find it a bit much." He nodded again.

"Thank you, both," he said, and meant it.

Beside him Malakai shifted, "Come on, Love. Let's get some rest."

Despite the unease he felt, Emrys let his mate guide him out.

As he lay in bed a short while later, Malakai a warm, comforting presence at his back, he couldn't quite shake the feeling of guilt that had grown in him at hearing what had happened and the fact he hadn't checked on the girl. But he decided to trust the healers: if anyone at the fortress knew about burn-outs it would be Rowan. And, he decided, in the morning he'd go and check on her.


	11. Chapter 11

I tried to make up for the last chapter with this one, but if I'm completely honest I'm not sure I succeeded. Am I the only one who finds having my mother in my space ridiculously stressful? Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

_Chapter 11_

The sky had barely begun to glow with the faintest hint of grey, sunrise still a way off, when Emrys finished dressing. He'd slept for a handful of hours, but it had been fitful and unsettled to the point where it was a relief to finally be up.

He fell into his usual routine as he arrived in the kitchen: light or stoke the fires, set a large pot of water to boil, open the top half of the back door, prepare tea for the early risers or those coming off watch (extra strong today to counteract the lingering effects of last night). Then he was making the first batch of bread dough and leaving it to rise near the hearth as he went to the pantry to fetch the final dough he'd made last night which had risen slowly during the long hours.

Next was a small pot of porridge. Small because it was too early yet for many of the fortress residents to be awake, and the porridge would only congeal if it was stood for long. This was for him, Luca and the handful of others milling about this early. And Elentiya, should she be awake.

As it was, he waited only for Luca to arrive before he headed off down the passages towards the small room she had been assigned. He didn't want to wake the poor girl, but he'd seen the effects of a burn out before and knew that the chances of her being up to making her own way to the kitchen were slim.

He knocked on the door, softly enough that it wouldn't disturb her if she was still sleeping, but he knew that with her usual watchfulness she wouldn't fail to hear it should she be awake.

No response came.

Good. He supposed it was good that she was getting some sleep. Turning away he made for the kitchens. He'd check on her again later.

Emrys made the short trip to Elentiya's room once more before the kitchen became too busy for him to leave. The outcome had been the same.

He was in the middle of cooking scrambled eggs when a small group of sentries came in, discussing the previous night.

"—they did! I swear it!" Danov was telling his friends as they entered. One was chuckling at what Danov had said, the other yawning as he walked.

Bas followed at the back of the group, and Emrys saw him scan the kitchen before a triumphant look settled on his features. "Who cares about them?" he demanded of Danov, "I told you she was there!" The others turned to look around the kitchen.

Emrys frowned. He didn't like gossip and he was almost certain he knew who this was about, though he didn't know where _there _had been. The plateau perhaps?

"What's going on?" Luca asked, looking up at Bas from the apples he was slicing.

Bas grinned, and there was something about his attitude that grated at Emrys. The man cared far too much about other people's business and had no scruples about sharing what he knew far and wide.

"Your scullery maid," he told the room at large. "You'll never guess why she's left you to do all the work this morning."

"Huh?" Luca queried as Emrys snapped out "Bas!"

Luca looked at him with a wince, knowing how Emrys felt about this kind of talk, but Bas just went on, "She's in the prince's room."

Luca's eyebrows disappeared into his curly fringe, but he kept quiet. Emrys hadn't told the boy about what he'd learned upon his return last night—was waiting until they'd finished and had a chance to talk without interruptions—but now he'd be left to make his own assumptions.

"I think you ought mind your own business, Bas," Emrys warned him, though not with the bite he'd intended.

Melinda had told him Rowan was watching her, so perhaps he shouldn't be surprised, he supposed. But even so, he was.

"I don't see why," Bas said, shrugging, "It's not like we don't all know something's going on there. She's probably trying to get on his good side."

"Bas…" This time it was Luca. His voice was low, embarrassed, but his discomfort at the way Bas was talking was clear.

"You have no right to talk about her like that," Emrys scolded. "About either of them. Now was there something you wanted, or are you only here to talk about things you know nothing about?"

Bas raised his hands. "Alright, alright…" he muttered as he went to the table where the tea and mugs were set out. "I'm just sayin', compared to training with him, doin' him some favours must be—"

The room fell silent.

Emrys turned, mouth still open to snap at the sentry to leave—immediately—but froze.

Luca looked slightly green.

Nobody moved as Prince Rowan took a smooth step into the room, his face set in grim lines as he looked at Bas.

For all he was angry at Bas for his behaviour, Emrys didn't want to see what Rowan would do to the young man for what he'd said.

Bracing himself, he stepped forward. "Good morning, Prince." His hands were clasped tight in front of himself as he bobbed his head politely, falling back on the honorific and doing his best to diffuse the situation. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

Rowan didn't look at Emrys. Instead, he bared his teeth slightly and Bas, who had blanched when the male had entered the kitchen, succeeded in turning paler still.

Good gods, of all the people to overhear Bas, why did it have to be Rowan?

"You were saying?" the Fae murmured, voice deceptively mild.

"N-nothing," Bas stammered.

Rowan bared more teeth.

"Sir," Bas added.

Rowan held his gaze for a long moment. "Good." His voice was far too soft to be anything but a threat, and everyone in the room knew it. "If I ever hear you saying 'nothing' about things you know _nothing_ about, you will regret it. Understand?"

Bas nodded quickly, taking a step back before pausing and bowing. In a matter of seconds he and his friends were gone. Emrys couldn't help but think he'd been exceptionally lucky.

Neither Luca nor Emrys moved as Rowan watched the men leave, face unreadable. Then he turned to Emrys and nodded.

Despite the lingering tension in the room the nod seemed to be enough for Luca.

"I thought you were gonna rip his throat out!"

Emrys groaned internally. But Rowan just looked at the boy, a small, wicked smirk on his lips.

"This way he's got time to be afraid." Rowan's tone sent a shiver down Emrys' spine, but Luca actually grinned.

Rowan looked back at Emrys. "Elentiya will not be helping for the next few days. She's… unwell." Luca's surprised "Huh?" went unanswered. "I believe the healers left the ingredients for a tonic?"

"Yes, Prince," Emrys nodded.

"Good. Prepare that and some breakfast. I'll be back soon to collect it." A short pause, then, "Thank you." Not words Emrys had expected, nor ones he supposed Rowan often used.

He nodded again, and Rowan left the kitchen as silently as he'd arrived.

"What tonic? What happened to Elentiya?" Luca barely waited for Rowan to be out of earshot. "Did something happen?"

"Hush," Emrys told him. "Don't you think we've had enough of that already this morning?"

Luca frowned. "You know I don't mean it like that," he mumbled, offended. "But she seemed fine at the party last night… I just wanted to know if she's alright. Nothing else.

"What Bas said…" he paused for a long moment, "It was wrong. You know I'm not asking like that."

And Emrys did. Still, he raised an eyebrow. "I thought Bas was your friend?" Not quite the truth. Luca practically idolised the young man, and he wasn't the only one. Bas had sweet talked all the fortress youths.

"He is! He knows loads about weapons and tracking and…" Luca went on, nearly singing Bas' praises. "But—but I don't like how he talks about people sometimes. Especially Elentiya. He talks about her and Rowan too much, but he doesn't actually _know _anything…"

Emrys smiled softly at the words: Luca was a good lad. Sensible and thoughtful. It took a lot of maturity to be able to recognise the faults in a person one admired as much as Luca did Bas.

"Let's hope he learns his lesson," Emrys sighed.

Breakfast was in full swing upstairs, but Emrys and Luca had sat themselves in the peace and quiet of the kitchen table instead. Small platters of eggs, potatoes, mushrooms and bread surrounded them, flanked by a large, chipped teapot that steamed into the warm air. The time between cooking and clean-up was always a welcome respite.

"So…?" Luca drew out the syllable into a long sound, but kept his voice quiet. "Any idea what happened to Elentiya?"

Emrys nodded, but finished chewing before responding. "When we came back last night two of the healers were here. They said she burned-out. They didn't say much else except that Rowan was looking after her."

Luca looked shocked. Burn-outs were rare but serious, even amongst weaker magic bearers. For someone with the kind of strength to warrant Rowan's training? Well, it was an understatement to say it could be bad and Emrys could well understand his surprise.

"And now she's in Rowan's room?"

"You really think that's a good thing to ask? You know I don't like gossip, lad," Emrys challenged. The last thing they needed was for Rowan to come back to the kitchens and year the same subject yet again. "Don't you think we've had enough of that for today?"

"I'm not—I'm not trying to gossip," he insisted, "I'm just wondering…" He took another bite of potatoes, but Emrys could tell the boy was genuinely worried about her. And he couldn't actually blame him for his curiosity.

"I mean, she wasn't in her room when you sent me up there." Luca went on.

"It looks like it," he conceded. "I'll admit I'm surprised."

"Can I ask you something?" Luca whispered, voice hesitant.

"Ask away," Emrys answered, both worried about what he'd ask next but also curious about what would have the boy so nervous.

"Elentiya and Rowan…" he murmured, almost too low to hear, "Do you think—are they—"

"Really, Luca?"

"No—it's not that, I haven't—" He stopped, looking to the two entrances before continuing. He leaned in and spoke even softer. "I haven't said anything to anyone, and I won't. But do you think… is it possible—_are they __**mates**_?"

Well, that wasn't what he was expecting. "No, lad," Emrys responded, just as softly. "You've seen them together. Mates don't treat each other like that."

"I know. I know that. But—" he looked away and shook his head before looking back. "I know that. That's what everyone says. But I'm telling you they _smell _like mates. And when I was watching them together… I dunno, they were angry and snarly and terrifying. But at times they were so fixated on each other. They _completely _forgot I was there. And I know everyone says it's impossible to hurt your mate, and they were fighting for _weeks, _but they smell of each other in the same way you and Malakai do. Not as strong, but in the same _way_."

Emrys looked at the boy for a long moment. Although his first instinct was to dismiss the idea, he had to consider how sharp Luca's sense of smell was. There was no one in the fortress, except a few in their animal forms, who matched him. Least of all Emrys. If the boy scented it, then it had to be something. Perhaps not that they were mates, but something.

"I don't think they are, Luca." He kept his voice soft, both to avoid being overheard and to not offend his young friend. "I don't doubt your nose, but whatever _is_ between them, I don't think it's the mating bond.

"There are stories of other kinds of bonds, even more rare than that between mates. Perhaps it _is_ one of those. But… mates don't hurt each other like those two have done. They simply don't."

Luca nodded but looked defeated.

"That isn't what you wanted to hear?" Emrys asked gently.

Luca shrugged. "I don't know," he puffed out a breath. "They're both just so… sad. So lonely."

They fell into silence after that until Luca finished cleaning his plate of food.

"They're just so alike, you know?" He shrugged. "It'd be nice for them to have that. To have found each other."


	12. Chapter 12

I couldn't help myself. I tried to start working on the next chapter but instead this came out. And it really did come out. I just couldn't stop once I started. Enjoy!

_Chapter 12_

It had to be approaching dawn and Rowan was still awake.

A week ago his guilt and worry and anger had driven him to bring Aelin to his room. Everything in him had felt the irresistible urge to look after her.

She'd burned-out. A stupid, childish mistake which she should have known better than to make. And yet she hadn't, because the training she was receiving from him was the first she'd ever received.

Even before her kingdom had fallen people had failed and scarred her.

And he'd finally seen her back. Had seen what she'd been hiding from him and what had been done to her when she'd been barely out of childhood. He'd realised just how mistaken he'd been about her. How wrong he'd been in his treatment of her.

So he'd gone to her room and carried her here, to his bed. He'd tucked her in and tucked her hair behind her ear and stoked the fire. He'd done his best to explain his mistake to her, had declared that she'd be staying with him and that he would find her a cot for the following night.

In the end he'd done no such thing.

Rutting hell, what had he been thinking? _Had _he even been thinking?

He hadn't felt this conflicted in—well, _ever_.

Every night he lay awake, trying to ignore her presence: the sound of her breathing, the soft strands of hair that spread across the pillows to touch him, the small, calloused hand that always sought out his—even in the deepest of sleep, the warmth of her, her scent.

That gods-damned scent.

It was almost as bad as the taste of her blood had been months ago, and both now plagued him. It was the most amazing thing he'd ever smelt or tasted and it disgusted him how little self-control he had. She was a child by Fae standards, for the gods' sake.

And yet the woman sleeping beside him was anything _but_ a child. For all he'd thought of her as one, and a particularly spoilt one at that, he'd been wrong.

The stories she'd told him in the last few days—_her_ stories—had been long and painful and spoke of a life lived. Her childhood had ended the day her parents had died and her kingdom had fallen. Any small remnants that had survived that tragedy had been stripped away from her bit by bit in her training, her losses, her injuries.

Irrational though it was, it enraged him to think of all the suffering she had been forced to endure when she been nothing more than a child. And then, what Arobynn Hamel had done to her after her actions in Skull's Bay: the lies, the manipulation and the scheming that ended with her lover dead and her in a labour camp. That anger was almost too much for him to contain. The only thing that allowed him to do so was the knowledge that, despite everything she had faced and all the strength she'd shown in doing so, she wasn't yet ready to face up to Arobynn's betrayal. For all if was obvious to him, she still denied it on some level. And if he let that anger out he'd be forcing her to confront that betrayal.

So he'd bitten down his anger and had instead focused on the joy and beauty in her stories.

Rowan knew he was well and truly jaded, the world a dull spread of anger and pain and despair before his eyes. Yet hearing her speak of the beautiful gowns she'd worn to extravagant parties, the gleam in her eyes as she'd told him about racing through red sands on an asterion mare, the teary-eyed joy of falling in love for the first time… it touched something in him, something painful but pure. Joy. It'd been so long since he'd felt it.

Until that day they'd ran through the trees tigether he'd thought himself incapable of ever feeling it again.

And wasn't that just the problem? It wasn't just that his body reacted to hers—no. That was natural. At least if one ignored the age gap between them. That his imagination was now filled with thoughts about her was unfortunate and aggravating, but natural. But that his emotions—his _heart—_reacted to her… that was not. Not when his mate was dead.

He'd thought his heart had died with Lyria.

So why did he now feel like it was being put back together, painful little piece by painful little piece?

Gods, he wished he could go back to hating her. It'd been so much easier.

Except that he'd even _hated_ her more than he should have. In the same way that she was getting under his skin now, she'd gotten under his skin then.

What was it about Aelin Galathynius that made her the only one to get through the shields and layers of icy-cold he'd wrapped around himself?

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Rowan found himself playing with the strands of her hair. Damn him. It was like she was a drug and he nothing more than an addict.

Worst of all, he'd seen her looking at him. He knew that she'd considered bedding him. All it would take was for him to cross that line and he was sure she would be willing, if only for the release. But then what? If it was like everything else that had happened between them it would be intense and rough and—curse it all—_fun_. And he'd be left wanting more, more, more, until he couldn't think straight.

But he couldn't have more.

Eventually he had to return to Doranelle. Had to hand her over to Maeve and whatever schemes she had in play.

His mind flashed back to the day in the cave, the day he'd almost gotten both her and Luca killed. He still couldn't explain what had happened, but something had urged him to go there. And once he'd been there it'd been as if he'd been called to that crevice and the sword within it. Something about both the sword and the ring was important.

After hearing Emrys' story of Athril, he hoped he'd somehow found her a bargaining chip. Something, however small, to protect her from Maeve.

The more he thought about it the more Rowan got the feeling his life had become little more than a fleck of snow caught in the eddies of other people's lives. Bigger, more important lives. First Maeve, now Aelin.

Except he'd never be free of Maeve. That wasn't possible. Soon his queen would pull him back under. And for the first time in centuries he wanted to rage at himself for taking the blood oath. For not waiting for—

No.

No. He would not think like that. _Could _not think that thought to completion.

It didn't matter that Aelin had been the first spark of light in the darkness in centuries. It didn't matter that her magic called to his, demanding, coaxing, inviting. It didn't matter because not even Aelin of the Wildfire could break the bond that tied him to his queen.

So he lay awake, unable to even leave the bed because even that much distance made him feel cold, nothing but his damning body and thoughts for company.

Gods rutting damn him, he was in so much trouble.

* * *

AN: So I know there are so many versions of HoF from Rowan's point of view and you don't need me to write another one, but let me have my guilty pleasure? On that note, can I recommend 'Nightmares' by darkraven1990? It's unfinished but it's a really refreshing take on Rowan's pov and i found myself loving every word.

That aside, I know this chapter is a bit all over the place, but that was intentional. I bet poor Rowan was having a rough time sleeping next to out Fireheart all that time X'D


	13. Chapter 13

Another chapter from Luca's POV. This one's pretty short because it's been a busy day.  
I'd love to know which POVs you like, which you'd like to see more of, and if there are any other POVs you'd like me to write.

_Chapter 13_

'So, Elentiya… are you really sleeping with Rowan?'

Good gods, Luca could imagine just how well _that_ question would go down. He could actually picture it. In detail. Unfortunately, that didn't stop him wanting to ask.

Luca was a chatterbox. He knew it and so did everyone else. There was no point even trying to deny it.

But he wasn't a gossip.

Really, he wasn't. And not only because Emrys hated it.

But _gods_, did he want to ask Elentiya about what was going on between her and Rowan.

It wasn't that he was being nosey exactly, it was just that he was getting _such mixed signals. _And it wasn't like he didn't have a sense of curiosity.

It had been almost two weeks since Beltane and Elentiya's burn-out and, even then, when she'd first moved into Rowan's rooms, he'd been an impossible mix of shocked and utterly unsurprised.

How did those two feelings even go together? How could you be surprised and not, at the same time at the same thing?

It was as confounding as their behaviour. And their behaviour set a high bar.

During Elentiya's recovery Rowan had been a typically overprotective, overbearing Fae male, with all the requisite snarling, growling and teeth-baring. Or at least typical for a lover, mate or parent.

And yes, Emrys and some of the quieter demi-Fae complained about Fae male territorialism, but Luca didn't think that was fair. It wasn't something that could be controlled. And it wasn't just the males.

Either way, he and Emrys had tried to visit Elentiya that first day. Tried and failed. They hadn't even made it through the door.

Luca had decided that Rowan was definitely more scary than the lake creature had been. At least in that moment.

So there had been that.

But just days later Elentiya had resumed her kitchen duties, and by the second day she was as injured as ever before. The only difference was that where before she'd often turned up with bruises, a bloody nose or split lips and knuckles, she now had cuts everywhere instead. So whatever had happened, he certainly wasn't showing her any kindness during training.

She and Rowan still came to hear Emrys' stories each night. Rowan always in his hawk form, Elentiya alternating between her human and Fae forms, though Luca couldn't find any reason for why she chose any particular form on a given day.

Luca never heard them speak to each other except for the occasional insult from Elentiya as they headed out each morning, but now Rowan sat closer in the evenings, so close that had the door not been just barely visible over Elentiya's shoulder, it would have looked like he was using her as a perch.

And, Luca knew, they were sharing a bed.

He did his best to stay out of other people's business: it really didn't matter to him who was doing what with whom, but he spent hours every day in the kitchens with Elentiya. He hadn't been able to avoid noticing.

And okay, he'd been curious. He'd admit that to himself. But being curious and intentionally sniffing out other people's business were two completely different things.

Still, he wished he could ask her.

There was just so much about their… relationship? Could he call it that? He didn't know another word for it, he supposed. Relationship, then. There was so much about it that he just didn't understand. A part of him knew it wasn't his business and he had no right to know, but another part of him knew he was missing out on learning so much by being here in Mistward. He didn't want to leave, but he knew that if he lived somewhere like Varese he'd have a lot more than just a handful of other couples to learn from. He just wanted to see people, to understand them. People were fascinating. It wasn't really people's relationships he was interested in. Really just people. But who people loved and hated and how they interacted… that was a big part of what people were.

So, by making themselves the two strangest people at Mistward, Elentiya and Rowan had made themselves the target of his curiosity.

Did they like each other? Or not? Did they even know?

He wasn't sure they did.

At least they didn't seem to hate each other anymore. Well, at least he didn't think they did.

Well, whatever. He knew what he knew. Emrys disagreed with him, but they smelled like mates. And since Emrys hadn't given him another explanation, despite him asking a few times for stories about these "other bonds"—no. It was _aaaallllll_ Maeve for now. Just how many stories could there be about her, anyway?—he was standing by his nose. Perhaps Emrys _was_ right. Perhaps not.

But Luca wished he knew.

But, then, perhaps so did they.


	14. Chapter 14

Hello again! This chapter is all about the missing scene from HoF that was released in special editions of EoS. If you haven't read it you can find photos on tumblr or pm me for a doc of it (I know not everyone has the eyesight to read a bunch of photos), but definitely read that before reading this.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed—I love you!

* * *

_Chapter 14_

"They'll be here at sundown," Davon said, face grave.

Emrys nodded. "Thank you for letting me know."

Davon grimaced softly as he turned to leave, heading back to whatever duty he had been assigned to before being roped in as messenger.

"Fae?" Luca asked, nigh-on incredulous. "What are they doing coming here?"

"I don't know," he answered. "We'll have to change dinner for tonight."

He rubbed at his temples, considering his options.

"I'll have the cleaners pay special attention to the dining hall and the prince and his companions can dine in there. Everyone else can eat in here, or fill plates to take with them…"

"Okay," Luca drew out the word. "What are we serving for dinner?"

And so the planning began.

* * *

Gossips.

Gossips _everywhere_.

As if it wasn't bad enough that he already had most of the fortress casting aspersions about Elentiya and Rowan, now there were three Fae nobles here, one of whom was in his kitchen and interrogating Elentiya for information in the least subtle way possible.

He'd been glad—relieved even—when Elentiya had immediately stepped in to handle Lady Essar upon her arrival. Though it had ended with the petite female chopping vegetables in an uncomfortably tense silence, Elentiya was certainly far more experienced dealing with nobility than he was.

Whatever had happened to her in the ten years since her kingdom's downfall, she clearly knew how to move in high circles more than even an eight year old heir would have.

So now he and Luca worked in an uncomfortable silence, given no choice but to listen as Essar asked her obliviously obvious questions, though he did try to provide interruptions when he felt they were needed.

Like when the conversation turned to Elentiya's magic.

Luca, Emrys could tell, was listening with rapt attention as the women discussed Maeve's blood-sworn.

Like many youngsters he had grown up with tales of Rowan Whitethorn and Lorcan Salvaterre, but now he was standing beside a female who had confessed to once being Lorcan's lover and was hearing those stories from her.

Emrys counted his blessings that she had been _Lorcan's_ lover. He really didn't want to see just how things would have played out had she said she had been involved with Rowan.

Except—

Apparently the other female had some kind of history with the prince.

Emrys sent a silent prayer to the gods.

_All_ of them.

There was a loud thunk of Luca's knife to punctuate Elentiya's next question.

"Would – would their children also belong to Maeve, the way Rowan does?"

Thankfully there was nobody besides the four of them in the room, else the rumour mill would have been turning full speed by the end of breakfast tomorrow, had anyone heard _that_ question.

Emrys was even considering whether he should perhaps have a conversation with the girl about contraceptive tonics. It wasn't really any of his business, but as all tonics were prepared in the kitchen he knew who was taking what, and he wasn't sure Elentiya even knew that was an option here.

If she was asking questions about children…

He shook his head. Later. He'd worry about that later.

The conversation moved on and, despite himself, he listened. The lady did raise some interesting points, and the next one was a big one.

"You are training with the most dangerous pure-blooded Fae male in the world, and yet he treats you as an equal. He presented you as an equal."

It was similar to observations he himself had made: how the two had more in common with each other than with anyone else at Mistward.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius out ranked all three of the nobles, yet it seemed Rowan had introduced her as Elentiya, despite Elentiya being a nobody in their eyes.

That made the fact he'd introduced her at all significant. Even more so, if one considered that he'd had her greet the travellers with him and had invited her to dine with them.

Lady Essar was right: Rowan had presented her as an equal.

Apparently that was as intriguing to an immortal Fae as it was to the demi-Fae.

* * *

Dinner turned out to be every bit as galling as he'd expected, yet he had a sneaking suspicion by the time that it was over that it had at least been eventful for those in the dining hall.

It wasn't Emrys' first time feeding Fae, and he knew the likelihood of Fae nobility actually enjoying his food was slim. On the other hand, their guards happily took up seats in the kitchen and each filled their plates a couple of times.

Emrys knew he was a skilled cook, so he'd done his best to ignore the disparaging comments the blonde female had made. Elentiya had clearly been impressed and even Rowan had praised his cooking—though whether that was a genuine statement or simply disagreeing with the woman whose attention was clearly unwelcome, Emrys couldn't say.

He left at that, knowing better than to stick around to hear more insults from a female like that, but jerked to a halt on the last step before the kitchen as a shocked and scared scream echoed down from the dining hall.

Concerned, he turned back to the stairs, though the room was out of sight. That wasn't Elentiya's voice, but—

There was light flickering on the curved wall of the stairwell, brighter than that of the torches. Flames.

No more voices reached his ears, just the faintest echo of quiet, unintelligible words.

For a fraction of a second he considered returning, before deciding that, whatever was going on, Rowan and Elentiya had it under control.

Instead, he retreated to the hustle and bustle of his kitchen.

It was the morning after the Fae left, as Emrys was kneading a batch of bread, that Elentiya asked, "Do you have any recipes? I mean, written down?"

Emrys frowned in thought. "There are a few… most of them are up here, though." He tapped at his forehead. "Is there something specific you're after?"

She stayed silent for a moment before she said, "Chocolate hazelnut cake."

"That's… a hard cake to make," he said.

"But you have a recipe, right?"

"You know…" he said, frowning again. "I don't think I do."

"What?"

"Does it have to be chocolate hazelnut? I have a recipe for chocolate cake if that'll do."

Elentiya chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment. "Is there any way you can get a recipe?"

"I can look through my books," he offered.

"You'd do that?"

He nodded.

"Thank you, Emrys," she said, a happy smile forming on her face.

* * *

Elentiya hadn't explained quite why she wanted the recipe. But he could well understand the comfort to be found in food, and Elentiya had been through enough to justify needing some comfort food. And he was glad she felt she could ask him for help.

Still, this recipe was every bit as complicated as he'd expected.

"I have some good news, Elentiya," he said when she entered the kitchen, her training having been called off for the day, perhaps in return for assisting with the nobles.

She looked up from tying off the end of her braid, face lighting up with hope and excitement.

He tapped a piece of paper on the counter and Elentiya rushed over, a smile breaking out on her face as she skimmed the list.

"Do we have all of this?" she asked eagerly.

"Well, most of it… But not the chocolate or the hazelnuts."

"But they're the most important part!"

"We might be able to get them," he tried to soothe her. He wasn't certain that they could get hazelnuts right now, but this was the most enthusiastic he'd seen her and he didn't want her to lose that before they'd even tried. "We should try asking around, maybe somebody will have some…"

"You really think anyone would give up chocolate?"

"Sure they will!" Luca said, full of enthusiasm "I'll help, too."

* * *

She nodded. The twinkle in her eyes eased something in Emrys' chest and made him all the more determined to see this through.

"Look what I've got!"

Emrys turned to look at Luca. The boy was standing in the doorway, a small bag dangling from his hand and a triumphant smile on his face.

"Is that—_hazelnuts_?" Elentiya practically sprinted across the room, reaching Luca in the blink of an eye. "Hazelnuts! You did it!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing in excitement. It was the happiest and youngest Emrys had ever seen her.

"We've got everything! How long do you think it'll take?" she asked him.

Emrys had been amused to hear that she'd spent the first half of the afternoon sweet-talking various demi-Fae in an attempt to get them to hand over any chocolate or hazelnuts they might have, with the promise that she'd replace them as soon as she could.

Surprisingly, she'd been successful in getting the chocolate she needed. Emrys couldn't help but think that he wasn't the only one pleased to see her so happy and willing to do whatever it took to keep her that way.

Now Luca had come through with the nuts.

"I think I'll be able to get the hazelnuts done today and—"

"No! No—I want to make it!" She turned excitedly determined eyes on him. "How long will it take me?"

"It's a difficult recipe, lass," he grimaced slightly. He didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm, really, he didn't. But, "You've never made anything this complicated." In fact, he didn't think she had much baking experience at all. She'd certainly never baked anything in her time here.

"I can do it! I've got the instructions memorised! I just need to know how long it'll take." She sounded so sure of herself.

Well, if she really wanted to do it herself, he could let her. No matter what she did, it couldn't go _that_ wrong. Unless she burnt it. But he could help keep an eye on it while it was baking. There wasn't really anything she could do that'd make it inedible, only give it a funny consistency or texture.

"The nuts are going to be the longest part. They need to be shelled, roasted, peeled and ground. It'll probably take a couple of hours at the least, just for that."

"A couple of hours?" she asked, dismay clear on her voice before she reigned herself in. "If I do it tomorrow, will I be in your way?"

"Of course not," he reassured her. "But I'd be happy to make it for you. You don't have that much time before your training tomorrow."

Her mouth spread in a smug smile and there was a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Leave _that_ to me."


	15. Chapter 15

Here's part two of the cake scene! I'm so happy so many of you enjoyed the last chapter and I absolutely loved getting your reviews. I loved the missing scene so much. It was just so funny and the interaction between Aelin and Rowan was just wonderful - probably why it was cut.

This isn't as funny as I wanted (hurrah for migraines) but I didn't want to keep you waiting without an explanation. Please forgive me! Also, I'm thinking of doing another short chapter for Rowan next. Thoughts?

* * *

_Chapter 15_

To say Luca was interested in Elentiya's cake was an understatement. A big one.

She'd rushed through preparing the vegetables with enough enthusiasm to convince Emrys to tell Luca to help her with the dishes. If she wasn't so seemingly skilled with knives he would have worried for her fingers. The result had been that the washing up was done faster than Luca had ever seen. And then Elentiya had been asking to start the cake.

Until yesterday, Luca had never really seen much emotion from her. Aside from her usual curt detachment and occasional anger, she didn't really let anything show. Even when she was in a better mood, a faint echo of a smile was the most he'd ever seen from her.

That made her excitement from the day before all the more unexpected, and now she had her face set in a mask of determination that only barely hid the excitement beneath. Luca would have almost said she was ecstatic.

"You must _really _like chocolate hazelnut cake, Elentiya," he ventured as Emrys pointed her in the direction of the large grinding stone. Luca crossed the kitchen to help her carry it to the sink where she washed it off, ready to use.

"Of course." she said, with the serious air of someone explaining something that should be obvious. "Chocolate cake is amazing. It should be part of every meal. But chocolate _hazelnut_? Is there _anything _better? No."

Luca chuckled to himself. She wasn't wrong about the chocolate, but he'd never actually had chocolate hazelnut anything. And he'd never known her to be so talkative.

"Are you sure there'll be a cake at the end? Or are you going to be eating all the batter?" he joked.

Her excitement dulled visibly. What had happened? Had he said something wrong?

"I… that's not going to be a problem…" she said dully, "I haven't—not since—"

She shook her head. "This cake isn't for me." Her voice was still sad, but tense now, as if she was willing herself not to lose focus.

"Oh?" Emrys inquired, clearly intrigued.

She blushed slightly as she considered her next words before she answered haltingly. "It's—it's for Rowan."

Luca choked.

That really was not the answer he'd been expecting. Judging by Emrys' jolt as he stirred a pot of stew, he was equally surprised.

Elentiya shot a furtive glance at first Emrys, then Luca. When she saw the look on his face she frowned. "It's not like _that_," she snapped.

"Um—" Crap, he didn't want her angry at him. But could he really be blamed for thinking it?

She sighed in resignation as she went to lift the stone. Luca was about to warn her of its weight, but cut off when she succeeded in lifting it and carried it to the work bench.

_Yeah… _He thought, _I keep forgetting that. _Elentiya was a lot of things. Ordinary wasn't one of them.

"Fine," she said, perhaps deciding that offering up the truth—or at least an explanation—was better than leaving it to their imagination. "It's like this: he's _never _had chocolate. He thinks it's pointless. His favourite food is 'meat on a stick'." The way she said it told him exactly what she thought of that.

"He's centuries old and his favourite food is meat on a _stick_. You can't tell me that's not tragic."

Luca had to bite back a laugh as she pinned him with a look, but when she raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips in a silent 'Well?', he couldn't hold it in anymore.

To his surprise, she gave him another look that seemed to say 'Exactly', then, "Meat. On a stick."

She barely lasted a couple of heartbeats before she too was smiling, then outright laughing

It was the first time he'd heard her laugh.

"So… chocolate hazelnut cake?" he asked, once he could do so without laughing too much.

She nodded, a self satisfied smile on her face.

"If you don't see to those nuts before they burn," Emrys interrupted, "there won't be _any_ cake."

Elentiya rushed to the small oven where they'd placed the nuts before starting the washing-up, and Luca had to admit, roasted hazelnuts really did smell good.

"But, why start with chocolate hazelnut? Why not start small?" he asked. If she was actually talking he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to ask as much as he could.

"Because," she said emphatically, "I have one chance to convince him. I'm not going to waste it."

Emrys handed her a tea towel and explained how to peel them and then how to grind the nuts.

The peeling went fine, but the grinding…

After the first dozen nuts launched themselves across the kitchen in impressive bids for freedom, Emrys relocated himself to the furthest corner of the kitchen. Luca considered doing the same after one hit him square in the forehead.

He looked up, and found Elentiya slightly red-faced and biting on her lip to hold back a bashful grin, and he couldn't help but grin back. It was good to finally see her happy.

Looking around him, Luca found the offending nut and threw it back. She caught it with ease and went back to grinding. It was only a matter of seconds until another one flew his way.

Then another.

He tried to catch the next one.

And missed.

"Looks like you need practice," Elentiya murmured.

Luca gaped at her for a moment. Who was she to talk, when she was shooting nuts everywhere? "Well—so do you!" Not the most eloquent response, especially the way he'd sputtered it.

She grinned at him. "Sounds like a win-win to me."

He laughed.

And so the next while was spent with Luca doing his best to catch all her errant nuts whenever they flew in his direction.

Eventually, the nuts had begun breaking down and he decided that the danger had passed enough to resume preparing the vegetables for lunch.

He didn't know how much time passed before he heard a frustrated sigh and a flash of light caught his attention. When he looked up, Elentiya was in her Fae form and was working the nuts with renewed vigor. She caught him staring and pinned him with a look, daring him to say something. So, naturally, he had to. But not what she was expecting.

"That's not fair at all! I wish I could do that. It'd make things so much easier."

She glowered at him, but there wasn't much bite to it. He grinned back.

* * *

In the end it took Elentiya over an hour and a half to finish grinding down the nuts to Emrys' satisfaction.

When she was done she had two bowls: one of a fine flour-like powder and another of an oily paste. It was the second bowl that had taken the longest, but it smelt delicious enough that Luca deemed it well worth the time and effort.

"Please tell me that's the worst of it!" Elentiya moaned as she slumped into a seat, the paste safely stored in a bowl.

Emrys chuckled slightly. "That's the worst ot it," he confirmed. "The rest is easy."

"Good," she grumbled.

Honestly, Luca was finding the whole thing endlessly entertaining: he didn't doubt Elentiya's explanation for why she felt Rowan should try the cake, but that definitely wasn't the whole truth. You didn't go to this kind of effort for just anyone, and considering what a shift this was from Elentiya's usually behaviour, it spoke volumes.

Emrys plonked a large mixing bowl in front of her and gestured for her to follow him to the pantry. In no time she was creaming together the butter and sugar, then adding the eggs and the hazelnut powder.

* * *

"Done!"

It was clear to Luca that Elentiya was tired of working on the cake, but the pride in her voice was clear.

She'd finished the cake a short while ago and had been cleaning up since.

That had given Luca and Emrys plenty of time to inspect the cake.

Unfortunately, Luca's nose told him something was definitely wrong with it.

Emrys had noticed too, and he'd double- then triple-checked with Elentiya that she'd used the right ingredients. She insisted that she had, and the look on her face spoke of a job well done.

Could she really not smell that?

"Do you want to try some?" she asked.

If he ignored the smell, he had to admit it was impressive for a first attempt. It was lop-sided from where she'd positioned it badly in the oven, but aside from that he'd seen how carefully she'd spread the filling and positioned each layer and the time she'd taken frosting it.

Still… he knew his answer. "Uh, I'm not hungry right now… Maybe later—if there's any left…"

He sincerely hoped there wasn't.

The incredulous look Emrys gave him was enough to tell him he'd been at least slightly convincing. Or perhaps just that Emrys' estimation of the cake was such that even the idea of someone eating it terrified him. Luca didn't know which.

"More for us, then." She declared.

She retrieved a second plate, a knife and a fork, and set them beside the cake. A quick thank you later she was striding out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Please," he said to Emrys in barely more than a whisper, "Promise you'll never let her cook."


	16. Chapter 16

I'm sorry for not updating yesterday! I'm hoping this chapter will make up for it (We hit 1k views in this little fandom so this is a celebratory chapter)! Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and especially for reviewing! Reviews make me insanely happy. We´ve reached the end of the cake saga: I'm both sad and relieved.

* * *

_Chapter 16_

Chocolate hazelnut cake.

Despite never having eaten it before—he hadn't eaten cake in decades and never by his own choice—he knew it wasn't supposed to taste like this.

Damn her. He never would have agreed to this, but then she'd bitten her lip and he'd needed to do _something_ to distract himself.

So he'd loaded the fork and tried the cake.

She looked so proud right now, and was watching him with such excited anticipation. And hope.

'It took me hours to make this damn thing, so you'd better say it's good. You have no idea how hard it was to get the ingredients. Or to find some sort of recipe.' That's what she'd told him.

She really wanted him to like this, and assuming she'd been in the kitchen all this time, she'd put in hours of work.

It was the least he could do to pretend he liked it.

So he gave an appreciative grunt and took another mouthful. To his side, Aelin was practically bouncing, she was squirming so much, and it occurred to him that it was the first time he'd seen her acting so young. There was an innocence to it that he hadn't expected from her.

He didn't know what it was about it, why seeing her like this ignited that spark of playfulness he'd rediscovered that day they'd run through the woods together, but whatever the reason, it did. And an idea formed in his head.

When he finished the slice she'd served for him, he took another, doing his best to ignore the fact that she'd somehow used salt instead of sugar. He didn't know quite _how _she'd done it, since she probably consumed more sugar by herself than all the other residents combined. _She _of all people should be able to recognise the smell of sugar. Since she hadn't, he ignored the taste and kept eating.

Despite himself, he found himself watching her as he ate.

She was beautiful. He had no idea when she'd crossed the line in his mind from ordinary and uninteresting to pretty and likeable. Conversely, he could remember the exact moment he'd realised that she was beautiful. It had been here, in this room, her face lit by nothing more than the glowing embers in the hearth as she slept. He'd been working at the table when she'd had a nightmare and he'd gone to the bed to wake her. But as soon as his hand had touched her face she'd relaxed, then reached for him. She'd settled with her hand on his thigh and her face just barely touching his leg as he sat beside her. And it was then, as she'd looked so soft and relaxed that it had hit him. Since then, it hadn't mattered what expression was on her face: she was beautiful.

He pulled himself from his thoughts to find those bright, turquoise eyes watching him, joy swimming in their depths as she bit her lip again.

Thankfully he was finished, just a small sliver left on the plate.

"I told you it was delicious," she said triumphantly. He didn't correct her; he'd left just enough that she wouldn't be able to resist trying some. She'd know how terrible it tasted in no time.

Aelin reached out to ruffle his hair, but she was in her human form and her movements were slow enough that he caught her wrist gently. He held it but did his best to ignore how good it felt to touch her. Still, he leaned in as he rose from the chair. Close. Far too close.

"Now we're even."

_This_, this was the favour she had asked of him. Not the day off from training, like he'd thought when she'd asked him for it yesterday, nor some outrageous self-serving request. Just the time to make this cake, or rather—monstrosity—and for him to try it.

Rowan stood and turned away, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep up his act were he to watch her taste the cake, so instead, he just made for the toilets, knowing it was just a matter of time before he vomited.

It was only seconds later that his ears were greeted with the sound of her spluttering and swearing.

Yes… That was worth every bite.

* * *

Aelin was in her favourite spot, sprawled across the bed in her nightclothes, debating whether or not she should risk using her magic to dry her hair.

She'd mastered that level of control by now but was vain enough to not want to risk making a mistake.

Rowan was doing his best to ignore her.

He wasn't having much success.

"Are you just going to sit there all night again?"

He looked over his shoulder at her and raised an eyebrow. "Is there something else I'm supposed to be doing?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug and in a tone of voice that said she had some ideas. "Take advantage of having some company for once? What do you normally do when you have company?"

"I don't."

"Never?"

Not the kind she was talking about, but he didn't want to discuss that with her. Especially not so soon after Remelle.

"So your favourite food is meat on a stick and you're always alone…" She rolled over and flopped to the bed with an overly-dramatic sigh. "You really—"

She cut off and for a moment a saddened look flashed across her face.

She patted the bed. "Come join me."

_No._ But the word wouldn't come. It wasn't the word he wanted to say anyway, only the one he felt he should.

And, like she had so many times now, somehow she cut right through all the walls he'd put up, all the restraints.

He was halfway to the bed before he'd consciously noticed. He sighed in resignation as he settled onto the bed, his head by her thighs. internally cursing himself for his lack of self-control. Even so, he didn't resist when he felt her fingers intertwine with his.

"I still can't believe you _ate_ that." Her voice was soft, tinged with laughter and disbelief. He didn't have to ask what _that_ was. It was going to take him a while to forget. "It was awful!"

He huffed a laugh.

"I really wanted it to be good," she said, a bit sadly.

He didn't like hearing her sad. Not over something like this. He couldn't change her past, he couldn't even do anything to help with the wyrdkeys or the King of Adarlan: Maeve would never allow him. But he could do something about this.

"If you get hold of any more chocolate," he murmured, squeezing her hand, "I'll try some. _Chocolate_. Not cake."

Aelin jumped up, the gold in her eyes glowing. "Really?"

Rowan knew he'd probably regret it, but he nodded.

Her lips curved up in a grin and she climbed to her knees.

Then she was leaning over him, _climbing_ over him. Knees on one side, hands on the other, she reached for her jacket, where it lay over the foot of the bed.

Too close. She was _far_ too close.

"What are you doing?" he growled, not at all happy with this position. To have her practically straddling him.

It wasn't like they hadn't been closer than this when they'd trained—even this afternoon when he'd dragged Aelin out as payback for the cake—but here, on his bed, her in her bedclothes and her jasmine, ember and verbena scent all around him… it was different.

"You're in luck!" she announced, though she was still straining to reach her jacket pocket.

_This_ was what she considered luck?

"Sorry!"

He was about to snap at her, but before he could she let herself fall forwards and—onto him. So _that's_ what the apology was for.

"Got it!"

Gods, she was sprawled over him, a squirming mass of hard muscle and soft curves, smelling so good he wanted to hate her for it—_did_ hate himself for thinking it.

"Trust me, you're going to like this."

What exactly did the girl think she was doing?

She pushed back up to her hands and knees, rubbing far too much of herself all over him as she did so, then started climbing off him. He only waited until he wouldn't end up with her back on top of him before he shoved her off.

It took all his willpower not to follow and pin her to the bed.

She was _nineteen_, for the gods' sake.

But she seemed oblivious. Thankfully.

"I have…" she drew out the word, her attention fully on unwrapping whatever was in her hand. "Two squares." She indeed held up a small brown square, face triumphant.

So it hadn't just been the lingering smell of the cake.

Rowan groaned.

"Haven't you tortured me enough today?" he asked her.

"It's not torture. The cake was a failure, but this is _chocolate. _I had no hand in its making.

"Now, try some."

He reached for the chocolate, wanting this whole ordeal to be over and promising himself that tomorrow he'd finally get that cot and reassert some boundaries, but she jerked it out of reach.

"Oh, no. Not like that." Aelin chided, "You're just going to shovel it in and swallow as fast as you can. I can tell from the look on your face."

She propped herself up on an elbow so she could look down at him. "It's chocolate. You're supposed to enjoy it." To demonstrate, she bit off one of the squares and sighed with contentment as she tasted it, eyes fluttering shut.

He wanted to hate her, _wished_ he could go back to hating her. That had been better than this endless test of self-control.

Then she licked her lips, a sound of approval escaping her, and he thumped his head against the mattress.

Perhaps this was a fitting punishment for his sins.

But then Aelin looked at him. "Your turn."

She held out the chocolate. Not for him to take, but almost brushing his lips. It smelt sweet and rich and not at all like something he'd normally eat. But her scent was still all around him and somehow the chocolate only seemed to compliment it.

So he opened his mouth and let her feed him the chocolate, focusing on how innocently happy she seemed at the action, at his acceptance, rather than the heat in his veins or the way she was watching his mouth so intently.

"And?"

He waited until after he'd swallowed to answer. "It's too sweet for me, but it's not unpleasant."

"Urgh," she groaned and fell onto her back once more, then said in an imitation of his voice, "'It's not unpleasant.' Don't you ever just enjoy things?"

Yes. He enjoyed being around her. He'd enjoyed her writhing on top of him. Enjoyed watching her expressions as he told her of his life.

But he couldn't tell her that.

Instead, he rose to a sitting position and said," Get some sleep. You're in the kitchens at dawn and then we resume your training."

"What? Where are you going?"

"To check in with the scouts." Lies. "Get some sleep Aelin."

Without looking back, he left the room and the damned woman behind. He needed some air.


	17. Chapter 17

I'll be honest, I had a really hard time writing this one. I wrote it three times over and it was either too long or too disjointed or eventually this... But I've got the next chapter ready and I'm really happy with it, so please be lenient with this one.

I loved the feedback for the last chapter!

* * *

_Chapter 17_

Malakai had thought that the worst that could happen at Mistward this decade already had. Between Maeve visiting, Rowan taking up residence, Elentiya's filthy mouth and the dead bodies he hadn't thought things could get much worse.

Of course, life took those kinds of misguided ideas as a challenge.

Rowan and Elentiya had returned to Mistward just a short while ago after being gone for a couple of days, sending the first sentry the prince had encountered to gather the captains in the dining hall with all haste.

The last captain had arrived and taken a seat before there was any sign of the pair. When they did appear they were dirty and disheveled, only their hands and faces clean. Elentiya had stripped off her tunic and was down to just her undershirt, but Malakai could see small brownish stains where blood had soaked through. Her pointed ears just barely peeked out of her hair.

Whatever had happened, they hadn't wasted time with anything but a cursory wash.

This was urgent.

They were deep in conversation when they entered, concerned frowns on their faces. Rowan had a warm loaf of bread in his hands which he thrust at Elentiya the moment she was done retying her braid. She took it and scowled at him in reproach, but Rowan ignored her and held her gaze for a long moment.

The prince took up position at the head of the table but did not sit. Elentiya perched on the next table along and tore off a piece of bread as Rowan looked at the faces gathered around the table silent table. The few Malakai could see without turning were pale and drawn: they knew they were about to hear bad news.

A moment passed and Rowan looked back at Elentiya, a silent conversation passed between them, then Elentiya spoke.

"We found what has been killing the demi-Fae." A pause as she looked each of them in the eye. It was the first time she'd spoken to many of them. She got to her feet and moved to stand beside Rowan and the thought flew through Malakai's mind, despite the situation, that he was looking at potentially the two most powerful Fae alive, a prince and a princess, warriors honed in blood.

The thought was only reinforced by Elentiya's next words, at the frankness with which she said them.

"Adarlan has a force of two hundred men and three creatures amassed on the coast and they intend to march on Mistward. Soon."

The questions came then, and the confusion. How did they know Mistward was the target? Why? What were the creatures?

Rowan answered this time and just minutes later the captains, though visibly shaken, had fallen silent and listened as Rowan explained the first steps they would have to take and started handing out tasks. Then they were breaking up to reconvene in the morning.

Malakai had his own tasks to complete, but—

"Prince," he followed after the male where he and Elentiya were already leaving the hallway, shoulder to shoulder. They stopped. "Thank you."

Rowan turned to him and Elentiya looked appraisingly between them.

"Thank you for taking charge, for helping us." Rowan merely nodded. There was so much more to say, but the words wouldn't come. Malakai looked to Elentiya then, found her watching him with those bright eyes, the gold glowing in this form. He nodded slightly and averted his gaze.

Elentiya turned and walked away, the prince following.

That meeting was the first of many and the following days became a blur of commotion.

As a senior soldier at Mistward, amongst all the outposts, Malakai was required to attend most meetings, both amongst the captains and the general populace. He'd never known such chaos in all his time at Mistward.

Arrangements had to be made to move as many of the residents as possible, and the healers' commune had been warned to prepare to do the same. Teams were sent out to acquire more arrows and oil. Yet more teams were out setting mile after mile of traps.

Rowan handled it all, Elentiya at his side.

By the end of the first full day, Rowan knew the names of each man or woman in the fortress, their role, their skills, their captain and subordinates. Elentiya helped with traps, making suggestions and improvements where she saw fit, keeping track of progress and problems and ensuring things got done.

For the first time Malakai considered how much she'd changed recently. Specifically since Beltane.

Elentiya had arrived at the fortress a cold, sometimes bitter shell of a person. Now she was self-assured, reliable and, for the right things at least, approachable.

She handled the sentries queries efficiently and swiftly, but exuded an aura of confidence that seemed to affect the soldiers she was talking to. She wasn't friendly, wasn't one of them. She was a leader and the demi-Fae accepted her as such.

That fact wasn't hurt by how seamlessly she and Rowan worked together, but a large part of it was simply Elentiya.

She had already impressed many of the morning watch rotation with her daily training and now she was proving that she could apply that same discipline and resourcefulness to other areas too.

She wasn't making any friends, but she was earning their trust.

* * *

Several days after Rowan and Elentiya had announced that Adarlan was planning an attack, a messenger arrived from Varese.

The news was grim.

Adarlan had successfully attacked in the north and all available troops had been marched there. There were no soldiers to spare to reinforce Mistward. They were alone.

To his everlasting pride, the captains did not balk at the news, not even for a moment. There was anger, yes, and a hint of fear, but conversation immediately moved to reworking plans in light of the news.

In the end, there wasn't much left to do: the traps were set, the demi-Fae were armed and those with the least experience had spent several hours running drills, practicing a handful of basic moves that Rowan or Elentiya had picked to reinforce. Elentiya had gone so far as to train the young women herself, showing them modifications or alternatives to those basic maneuvers that would help when fighting a bigger, stronger foe. They'd all known the moves, of course, but it was good to refresh their memories now, so soon before they'd have to use them. It also had the added benefit of keeping everyone too busy to panic.

After almost a week the fortress was as prepared as it would ever be without reinforcements, the healers' commune had been evacuated so far as was possible and many of the fortress residents had gone with them.

Now only the fighters remained.

And Emrys, because his stubborn mate would not leave.

Malakai just hoped it was enough.


	18. Chapter 18

And here's the next one. I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you enjoy reading it! We're almost at the end of Aelin's time at Mistward and the end of this fic. Would you like me to do something similar for QoS?

* * *

_Chapter 18_

For the second time in a month, Gavriel was on the way to Mistward. To Rowan. Yet more words scribed in harsh black ink urging him there.

Except this time it was not a burden of grief that called him to Mistward, but a letter asking for help, for aid in saving innocent lives.

Gavriel had departed within minutes of receiving the letter. He had not asked permission; had not dared risk it. He would accept his punishment should he return.

The streets of Doranelle were busy under the afternoon sun and Gavriel kept his pace easy. That of a male with a task, but nothing out of the ordinary. No. He would not give his Queen's spies anything to report. Not while he was still close enough that Her Majesty could stop him leaving using the blood-oath alone.

He waited only until he reached the grey-stoned bridge leading out of the city before he shifted, the loping gait covering the ground faster than two legs could and the low form less out of place on the plane. Still he kept his pace relaxed for another two miles before he picked up speed.

Gavriel was almost to the trees when a flash of movement caught his eye. Familiar. Even at the edge of his vision, that form was one he recognised instantly.

He resisted the urge to tense, to react. Either Vaughan was here on Maeve's order or he too was responding to Rowan's call for aid. Gavriel didn't pause to find out.

A mile passed, then two. Vaughan didn't stop him.

Five miles. Vaughan kept pace in the air above.

Ten.

They'd run near thirty miles when black appeared ahead and to the right, a stain like ink in water tearing a hole in the world before resolving into two wolves. The white wolf bared his teeth in a feral grin as the two fell in beside Gavriel, Connal showing no sign of recognition nor his intentions.

Fenrys's grin had told him enough.

Of all of them, Fenrys was the one who resisted the blood-oath the most fiercely, his allegiance to their queen wholly dependent on his brother.

Queen Maeve had required one of the brothers to stay in the Palace at all times since the day that Fenrys had taken the oath. That both were here was a clear indicator that they were not under orders.

_Four_.

Four of them had disobeyed their queen to answer Rowan's summons. Gavriel scarcely believed it.

Yet Rowan would do the same for any of them. Rowan would face whatever punishment Queen Maeve saw fit, if they bid him for aid.

So they would do the same.

* * *

The journey to Mistward, the half-blood outpost in the Cambrian Mountains, took seven days if one travelled without urgency; five if one travelled with moderate haste.

The Circle ran with the wind.

The moon had long since risen when they stopped for the night in a forest clearing. Vaughan was the first to shift, gliding down in a wide circle until he shifted in a flash of light.

"Gavriel, what do you know of the threat we will be facing?"

Gavriel. Always Gavriel that the others turned to if Rowan or Lorcan were not present. He was the most senior after Lorcan, though both Lorcan and Rowan held higher ranks.

He shifted and reached within his pocket for the letter before handing it to Vaughan who scanned it quickly.

"This is the same as I received," he said, brows pinched slightly. "It tells us nothing."

"Relax Vaughan," Fenrys drawled. The blond male had shed his animal form and now sat resting against a wide tree trunk. "You know what Whitethorn is like: never one to waste words."

Gavriel nodded. "We know the threat is considerable," Gavriel said, seating himself opposite Fenrys and Connal. "Rowan would not have called for our aid for anything less. There is a chance that giving specifics could have caused more danger, he—"

Silence. The forest around them had gone silent, the quiet rustling of wildlife stilling.

Gavriel was back on his feet instantly.

One heartbeat. Two. A hint of a scent reached him, ancient and cruel and familiar.

"Shit." A flash of light and a moon-white wolf was crouching beside its black twin, both braced for an attack.

Gavriel silently echoed the sentiment but did not fall into a fighting stance as the others had.

They held their positions, magic a simmering tension in the air as they readied to face their pursuer.

The male appeared in the clearing with the next heartbeat, black hair hanging to his shoulders, face as hard as granite.

Lorcan.

He scanned the small clearing, taking in their stances, Vaughan's hand resting on the hilt of his sword. A savage smile tugged at one side of his mouth and he spat on the ground. Then he straightened and prowled forward.

"Are you here to help or to retrieve us?" Gavriel kept his tone neutral. Lorcan was by far the most brutal and ruthless of the Circle. Of all of them, he cared the least about any kind of camaraderie within the group. But if he was here on orders the blame was not his. Even if he _would_ take pleasure in fighting them.

Three on one. Under normal circumstances, just one of them versus another Fae wasn't much in the way of competition. Lorcan, however, was anything but normal. He might be able to stop them all.

_If_ it broke out into a fight.

Gavriel wished to avoid that, if he could.

Lorcan held his gaze as he stalked further into the clearing, his black eyes giving away nothing. Nobody else moved.

"I got the rutting letter too." He said at long last. "If there's going to be fighting I'm not letting that bastard have all the fun."

It was all he needed to hear.

"All of us then," Gavriel said, as much a question as a declaration.

They didn't know what threat they were heading towards. It was impossible to tell if Rowan had written to all of them because the danger was great enough to require all their might, or because he hadn't expected all of them to come; either because they were unable or unwilling to.

This would be the last chance to turn around, should any of them wish it.

Lorcan looked around the clearing, assessing each of them. He nodded.

The tension broke.

Good. Good that it was all of them.

Gavriel had pushed all thoughts of the blonde-haired young woman with those eyes out of his mind. He hadn't been able to afford to think of her. Not when she had the turquoise and gold eyes of the Ashryver's.

Now though, he couldn't stop the surge of worry and relief that surged through him. She was in danger and he still didn't know whether—

No. He shouldn't think of such things. The danger was too great. It was enough that Rowan had sent for aid.

Gavriel knew that Rowan would keep her safe to the best of his abilities. He knew because whoever she was, whatever she was, she and Rowan carried each other's scent, though he tried not to consider what that may mean.

He pushed those thoughts aside.

It was enough.

They'd be there within little more than a day.

The others had taken up positions around the clearing, nothing but grass and moss and wildflowers for beds. It was enough.

"We leave before dawn." He said, then settled himself against a tree.

It had to be enough.

* * *

Dawn hadn't yet broken when they finally reached Mistward two mornings later. After that first night they hadn't stopped to sleep, the dark god urging Lorcan to keep them running through the night.

Still they arrived to find the fight already raging.

It was dark. So much darker than it should have been, and a smell pervaded the area that made Gavriel want to recoil. What was that?

No matter. They couldn't stop.

Whatever this threat was, Rowan needed their help and—

And there was the girl, holding a shield of fire between the creatures that looked like men but that he knew were not, and the magical barrier that encircled the small fortress. Darkness lunged for her and she blocked it with her flames, fast as an asp. But there was blood trailing from the corner of her mouth and her eyes were pained, even through the shock and relief and hope that appeared on her face as she noticed him and his companions tearing down the hillside towards them.

The sounds of fighting reached him from within the fortress.

She was alone.

A lone light against the reeking darkness that shrouded the beasts.

Gavriel did not falter as he ran for that darkness but, ahead, Connal did.

The black wolf skidded to a halt just yards away from the blackness, teeth bared.

The girl saw and light cleaved through the darkness, spearing not towards the creatures, but towards Connal. A channel opened, leading through to the barrier, walls of living flame holding back the fell gloom.

Such power. It had been centuries since anyone had been born with more than minor fire gifts. Yet here stood a young woman with the power to force back this otherworldly darkness. But the power was draining from her, and the passage through the darkness began to slowly fade. So they ran.

Lorcan barreled past her, not pausing to look. But Gavriel couldn't help himself as he slowed: she should not be facing this alone, whoever she was.

He watched as she coughed up blood, the magic taking its toll on her young body, and he knew he had to stay. But then she caught his eye and said, "He's inside. Help him." Each word was an effort of will, as if ensuring Rowan got help was more important than her own battle.

Still he hesitated, long enough to see a whip of darkness surge forward, causing her to stumble back, and her magic faltered momentarily.

"_Go_!" She could barely draw the breath to speak the word but the command was clear.

Could he leave her here alone? Could he disrespect her wishes when she was being so clear?

He was torn: the fighting within the fortress was fierce, and the girl insisted he leave, yet she was all alone against creatures the likes of which he'd never encountered.

Finally, a young woman's scream from inside the fortress decided him. Rowan had called them here not to his own aid but to help the innocents who called this place home. The girl knew what she wanted. That darkness would kill and her magic was failing her. She knew. She'd made her choice.

He ran for the door.

* * *

The passageways of the fortress were familiar to him after all these centuries, but in the chaos of fighting they were a confusing maze that he could only navigate thanks to his sense of smell.

He reached a stairwell in time to see Rowan forcing his way through a group of confused, scared demi-Fae, and surge up the stairs. Their eyes locked and Gavriel knew what Rowan was planning. Knew it because they'd known each other for centuries.

He shifted, throwing an arm out to block his friend's path.

"Where is she?" Rowan's voice was guttural enough to barely be intelligible.

No, he could not let Rowan pass: could not allow him to see what would happen next.

"She's in bad shape, Rowan. I think—" Rowan forced past him anyway, surprising Gavriel with the force of the movement, cutting off his words.

Lorcan was there, but Rowan was too fast for him to realise what was happening before Rowan was gone, running for the barrier and the woman beyond it.

"Rowan!" Gavriel called, both a plea to his friend and an order to Lorcan. Then he ran.

Rowan had stopped beyond the door, taking in the scene before him, and through the cold calculation he'd gained through lifetimes of war, Gavriel could see horror and despair on the male's face.

He barreled into Rowan, using all his strength to take him down to the ground and to pin him there. His friend fought against him and it took all of Gavriel's skill to hold him against such desperation.

And that was what it was. After years of icy-cold, self-hatred and despair, there was desperation to get to the young fire-wielder in the male.

Gavriel watched in horror, something in his chest cracking at what he was witnessing—at what he was forcing Rowan to watch so helplessly—as one of the creatures took her face in its hand with all the gentleness of a lover and she stopped fighting. The thud of her golden sword hitting the ground seemed to reverberate in the stretched-out moment, then darkness fell as her flames disappeared from the world and the creature wrapped her in its arms.

Rowan's screams, he thought as Lorcan finally joined him in holding their companion down, might have been the most painful thing he'd ever heard.

Perhaps it would be better for that darkness to consume them too.

But it didn't. The creatures surrounded the young woman as one held her in its arms, and seemed to forget about the fortress or the battle inside, didn't seem to care that the barrier surrounding the fortress had fallen now that the fire no longer shielded it, nor about the wind and ice Rowan had sent at them in mighty blasts. No. They only cared about her.

Rain began to fall and it was enough to rouse Gavriel from his horrified stupor.

The didn't have time for this. The girl was lost—there was nothing they could do for her now—but the fighting in the fortress hadn't stopped.

"Rowan," he tried, but the male didn't seem to hear him, his attention as fixed on the woman as the creatures'. He squeezed the male's arm hard enough to hurt and tried again, "Rowan, we are needed inside."

"No." The word was raw, desperate. But determined enough that Gavriel prepared for the male to fight him once more.

"Rowan," Gavriel tried a different angle, "The others—"

"_No_."

Lorcan cursed and snarled, "She is _dead_, you fool, or close enough to it. You can still save other lives." But Lorcan didn't understand: reason was useless in the face of such pain. Still, Gavriel followed Lorcan's lead when he began to pull Rowan to his feet and back towards the fortress entrance, if only because he worried what would happen if either slackened their grip.

"If you don't let me go," Rowan snarled at Lorcan, more savage than Gavriel had ever heard, "I'll rip your head from your body." Never had Rowan spoken to any of them like that. Never.

Gavriel shot Lorcan a glance, a warning and a question. Rowan was serious and he would fight them. Lorcan's words were having as little effect as Gavriel's. Whatever had happened between Rowan and the girl, whose name Gavriel still didn't know, the male cared deeply for her. More deeply than Gavriel had known him to care for anyone in over two centuries. Since Lyria he hadn't allowed himself to care about anyone. But the girl was surely dead. Rowan must see that. It seemed such a cruel fate for him to lose her after suffering so long.

Rowan tensed, preparing to fight them, but Gavriel tightened his grip. He'd seen the answer in Lorcan's eyes. Lorcan wasn't letting go of their friend. Good: neither was Gavriel.

So be it.

"_Let go_!"

Before either male could respond the ground began to shake, to tremble—as if in fear of what was to come next. Gavriel could feel the magic on the edge of his senses. It took decades to learn to accurately sense the magic of others, but this force was massive enough that he could feel it. It was alien to him, other, and vaster than he'd ever felt from anyone besides the two men with which he now stood.

"That's impossible," Gavriel murmured, voicing his disbelief as a burst of flame lit up the darkness, then another. "She burned out." He'd seen it, knew the signs well enough even if he hadn't been able to feel her magic before. Yet light bloomed within that darkness and spread. More than she'd had even upon their arrival.

The fire surged in a wave of reds and oranges and yellows, and Gavriel thew up a shield, feeling Lorcan do the same, but Rowan surged forward to meet it, finally breaking their hold.

Rowan was within the magic before Gavriel could cry out, no shield in sight, and Gavriel couldn't look away as—nothing happened.

That should have been as impossible as her surge of magic, yet he was seeing it.

Rowan sped forward but did not falter, did not burn as the flames engulfed—no, enveloped him. They spread across him without burning, and Gavriel would have sworn the flames flared brighter around his friend.

Two of the creatures burst into motion, shaking off their shock and pulling the darkness in around them, but she grabbed their faces in a lightning-fast motion and a heartbeat later they burst into flames, then crumbled to ash.

Rowan was still running for her when she turned to him, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth as she beheld him. A tired smile, but one of joy nonetheless.

What did either of them think they would accomplish? Already her fire was dimming once more and Rowan's magic had had no effect, Neither had Gavriel's or Lorcan's.

A flash of a blade as Rowan pulled a dagger free from its sheath in the moment before he reached her. She was already moving to do the same. Then she spoke, not with the nervy, awkward voice she'd used the night she'd come to Rowan's rooms with a tray of food, but a voice filled with confidence and demand despite her exhaustion.

"To whatever end?"

Rowan nodded and clasped her hand in his as a wave of darkness crested above them and began to crash down.

Despite himself, Gavriel could not look away. He did not wish to see his friend die, but he could not dishonour the male by looking away, nor the young woman who had fought with such courage.

An instant before the blackness his them, her knees buckles and Rowan caught her with an arm around her waist, pulling her close against him. Then flame shattered through the dark, leaving no hint of that hellish black in its wake. The creatures looked on in horror as she turned her head to face them, then fell to their knees. One looked on in wonder in the moment before his eyes burned away, but the other tried to flee.

Within moments there was nothing remaining but four strange, black collars.

The girl slumped fully in Rowan's arms and he released her hand so he could lift her. There was blood on his palm, a slice splitting it from one side to the other, visible now in the early dawn light.

_Carranam_. Gods above, they were _carranam_.

Rowan approached, the girl so small as she lay limp and unconscious in his arms that it seemed impossible that she had been the source of the magic Gavriel had just witnessed. Rowan's face was angry, though his voice was steady as he said, "Help the others."

They did so, Gavriel returning to the fight and forcing away his stunned state. He only partially succeeded before the fight was over.


	19. Chapter 19

Here's the next one! Sorry for the delay, I was ill for a few days and couldn't quite get stuck into writing. I have 8 different versions of this chapter that I abandoned before I started this. I haven't started on the next chapter yet, so I don't know when I'll get that up. Let me know what you think!

* * *

_Chapter 19_

Mistward had never been quieter than it was in the days after the Adarlanian attack. The halls were busy, people moving this way and that, running errands and making repairs, but they were subdued. Mourning.

Very few of the demi-Fae had had any combat experience before the assault on the fortress, and, for all their preparations, nobody had expected the attack to come from the escape tunnel.

Their most vulnerable, the ones who should have been the safest, had been the first hit. Only the timely arrival of Maeve's circle of blood-sworn commanders had saved them. But not before they took losses.

It had been agony for Emrys to see those bodies. His heart had beat painfully in his chest, and with each new body he helped move, it had been difficult to breathe, his throat tightening up and aching.

Emrys had wept for each life lost, for all the hopes, dreams and futures that had been shattered in that lightless dawn. Then, as flames painted the surrounding forest orange, he'd stood watch as each and every pyre burned, ashes drifting away on the mountain winds. People he had known and loved, had watched grow and fall in love or climb out of the darkness that had been their lives before Mistward, they'd all burned in the same uncaring flames. He'd stood and watched, a silent witness as Mala consumed them and they returned to the dark, cloudy sky.

The next morning there had been more pyres, though Emrys had felt far less grief at those. He hadn't gone to watch.

The Adarlanian soldiers.

In the hours after the fighting had ended they had each taken poison. Not one remained and, despite himself and the pain they'd caused, he did feel a touch of grief. Many young men died in atrocities in the name of patriotism. That alone was enough to make his already burdened heart ache, and yet Adarlan had gone past that. He'd heard about what went on across the sea: to refuse the armies was treason. How many of the men they'd burned had joined the army because there was no other choice?

Women and children were granted asylum in Wendlyn. But not men. For them, the only choices were to join Adarlan or the rebellion and far too many good men would have no idea how to make contact with rebels.

And this was the result.

Those men had killed his friends and loved ones, and he hated them, even as he pitied them.

Better they were dead.

Better dead than killing innocents, than being _forced_ to fight those resisting the horrors of Adarlan.

In the grand scheme of things, it had been such a short fight, and yet the effects of it could still be clearly felt in the fortress. The halls were filled with the quiet sound of sniffling from the other sides of doors, occasional sobs a painful counterpoint.

Emrys was just glad that it hadn't been worse.

He'd expected the worst when he'd heard of the fighting that had taken place within the fortress, but by some miracle they'd been spared. Not only had Maeve's commanders arrived in time to prevent more deaths, but they had then remained to heal the injured. That had saved more lives than Emrys had wanted to count, in the hours before the healers arrived.

On top of the losses they'd taken, the ancient stones of the fortress had taken damage and entire passageways had been coated in blood. Emrys had avoided much of the cleaning and labour, not because he'd wanted to, but because nobody had been willing to accept his help in the short periods when he wasn't needed in the kitchen, insisting that they could manage and that he needn't worry.

But he had.

So he'd taken it upon himself to comfort the demi-Fae.

His friends. Family.

Luca had thrown himself into the work, both in the kitchen and in the clean-up, and Emrys knew it was to avoid thinking about the losses and betrayals. The boy was far too young to have experienced something so terrible.

Bas had been his friend, someone he'd admired.

Luca hadn't spoken about what had happened, hadn't really spoken at all. So Emrys put him to work, making sure he ate and giving him a mild sleeping tonic the night before. He'd be there for Luca whenever he was ready to talk.

As he'd been there for Malakai last night, as his mate lay awake for long hours, the stripe of moonlight on their bed creeping its slow path across the blankets until the grey light of dawn lit the room.

Then there was his missing scullery maid.

If, in the eyes of the demi-Fae, Maeve's blood-sworn were the heroes who had almost single-handedly decimated the enemy soldiers, Elentiya was the enigma that had stopped the strange creatures that had come to the gates.

Details of that fight were sparse, but Emrys knew what had happened.

Though many of the wall-top guards had rushed inside when the fighting had started, some had remained in case they were needed at the gates.

They had become the only witnesses to what had, by all accounts, been a scene from legend more than it had been a mere battle.

Sten, quiet, steadfast Sten, had been amongst the handful of archers who had held their positions above the gates, and he'd told Emrys of what had happened as he'd cradled a steaming mug of tea after the others had left the kitchen for the night. Only Sten, Emrys and Malakai had remained, neither of them any more ready to settle for the night than Sten.

_"I'm telling you," he looked from Malakai to Emrys, back curved and shoulders hunched, "I've never seen anything like that darkness." _

_The man, barely past thirty, was visibly distressed and his words had lost their normal soft-spoken pace, tumbling out of him in a forced rush. _

_"I heard… I heard—" Sten cut off, eyes squeezed shut and his fingers tightening around the mug until his knuckles whitened and Emrys worried it might shatter. He shook his head, but, when he opened them, his eyes were fixed unseeingly on his tea. Malakai reached forward and squeezed his shoulder in comfort. _

_"The barrier," Sten took a breath, chest heaving, "The moment it touched the barrier it just… vanished." He looked up again, face drawn and pale. _

_Emrys had no words. He didn't know what those creatures were or whether Adarlan would send more. If the barrier couldn't protect them… _

_"Elentiya held them off at first, but they were stronger than her, I've never seen such magic—yet they were stronger than her. And then… _

_"They had her, those things. Elentiya. They had her. And I thought—she'd been the only thing stopping them and—" He rubbed a shaking hand over his face and Emrys could see the tears on his cheeks. "She was the only thing stopping them and they had her. I knew it. And Whitethorn, he knew it. He tried to get to her but Salvaterre and the Lion—they stopped him. He was fighting them and screaming and—" _

_Stens shoulders shook and he buried his face in his free hand as he cried. _

_"I knew we were going to die. If _they _couldn't stand up to those things, _the three of them, gods—_they knew Whitethorn would die if he faced them." He looked up again, tears and fear and helplessness filling his eyes. "His magic did nothing. _Nothing at all… _And she was dead, and we were going to be next." _

_Emrys's heart stuttered at the words. He hadn't seen Elentiya since the night before the attack. Hadn't seen Rowan either. Gavriel and Connall had come to the kitchen for food for all of the Fae and Emrys had assumed—_

_"She's dead?" he demanded, voice near breaking. _Oh, gods, why hadn't he thought of her? _He knew the answer. He'd assumed that with Rowan there, she'd be safe. Even listening to the horrified way Sten had spoken of the creatures 'having her', he hadn't considered—not until those words: _his magic did nothing. Nothing at all. And she was dead.

_"Gods," Sten breathed, voice shaking. "She should have been! I _saw _it, but then—she'd burned out! I saw her burn out! I saw those creatures crowding around her as she fell into their arms. She should have been dead! And then—and then her fire—" _

_Sten was visibly trembling, the fear of the moment overwhelming him as his words tumbled out, but Emrys was overcome with relief. She wasn't dead. She _wasn't dead.

_"Mala be praised for sending the girl here, she saved us." Emrys didn't know if Sten was attributing their survival to Mala or Elentiya, but Sten went on, tears streaming down his face. _

_"It was shaking! Everything was shaking!I thought it was the end. I thought—" He went silent, mouth opening and closing as he searched for words. "I thought it was them, but it was _her. _Like she was drawing from the fire of the earth itself. I thought I was imagining it when her fire reappeared, but I saw it. She killed two of them—she burned them from the inside out! But—but—"_

_"You're going to tell me I'm crazy, or that I imagined it," Sten's eyes turned pleading, "But I'm not. I didn't! The woman standing there—it wasn't her. It wasn't Elentiya. I'm telling you, the woman—she was similar, but different. Her hair, her face, her eyes… Mala, it was Mala Lightbringer herself!" _

_Emrys was too stunned to speak. Beside him, Malakai had stiffened. _

_"Maeve's males, they knew it too." His eyes were still imploring but showed no hint of doubt. Sten knew that what he was saying stretched credulity, and yet… The stories spoke of the gods helping mortals and immortals alike in times of great need… Was it possible that Mala really had been at the fortress? That she had saved them? _

_"They let Whitethorn go. They knew. And he—he ran, right into those flames. There was so much fire! It was the power of Mala herself, but he ran, and he grabbed her. The things, they tried to kill them, but Mala stopped them, and then—and then they—the creatures—they were burning. Then it was over. It was over and everything went black. Mala was gone and Whitethorn was holding the girl and all I could see was Mala, killing those creatures! It's all I see every time I close my eyes…"_

_He began to weep. _

The man Emrys had known for years to be calm and reserved had been gone in that moment, lost to fear and horror

The conversation had carried on for a while, until Sten had once again settled somewhat and finally headed to bed with a mug of sleep tonic clutched in his hand despite the relatively early hour, having been unable to sleep the night before.

An hour and a half later, Emrys still couldn't shake the sentry's words, nor his concern for Elentiya.

He'd been deliberating for the last half hour whether or not it was too late to go and check on the girl, and had finally decided that it was not. Many a night his stories carried on well beyond this time, and both Elentiya and Rowan always stayed until he was done.

Emrys knocked softly on Rowan's door, Malakai scowling faintly beside him.

His mate had disagreed with his decision to come here but had understood that Emrys needed to know if Elentiya was alright. For all he hid it well, Malakai was almost equally concerned. In the days of preparation, Malakai's opinion of the young woman had changed, and Emrys knew that Malakai had grown to grudgingly respect her. Like him, Malakai had assumed that she would be fine if Rowan was with her, and that he wouldn't have left her side had she been in danger.

For whatever reason, they'd been wrong.

So they both needed to check on her wellbeing.

Malakai's face smoothed into a polite mask an instant before the door opened to reveal Rowan's less than happy face. The male was bare from the waist up, his body a mass of scarred muscle, black swirls and a few already fading bruises. He'd only partly opened the door and his broad shoulders effectively blocked any view inside.

He didn't snarl or order them to leave, however, and Emrys took that as a good sign.

"Pardon the intrusion, Prince," Emrys said softly, bobbing his head politely. Beside him, Malakai repeated the movement. He'd be lying if he claimed he wasn't intimidated to be at the receiving end of the prince's displeasure, but he steeled himself. "Elentiya, is she well? Is she—" He couldn't say the word, couldn't ask if she was dead or alive.

Rowan eyed him for a long moment, a muscle in his jaw fluttering slightly in the dim light of the fire. Emrys had begun thinking he wouldn't answer, or that he was about to tell them the worst, when Rowan let out a small, resigned sigh. Despite his worry, Emrys couldn't help but think that, when paired with his next move, that sigh wouldn't have been out of place with an eye-roll. Then Rowan opened the door wider, giving them a view of the bed, though he remained in his position, his arms braced on the door and the door-frame, keeping them in the hall. He too looked to the bed.

The bed was rumpled, the covers on one side thrown back, suggesting that Rowan had already been in bed when they'd knocked.

On the other side… there was Elentiya. She looked so small, curled up under the blankets as she was. Her hair, which she always kept braided while in the kitchens or training, was spread across the pillow, and short—maybe half the length it had been the last time he'd seen her. Her face was different, too: leaner, her fine bone structure more defined. But her shoulders rose and fell I the steady rhythm of sleep and it was enough to bring tears of relief to Emrys' eyes.

She lay facing the empty side of the bed and, as he watched, she slid a hand across the sheets as if she was reaching for someone. Emrys could have sworn that Rowan's hand twitched on the door.

"She's fine," Rowan said, voice pitched low.

Emrys let out a small sigh of relief, unable to find the words to express himself, and Malakai said, "Thank you, Prince."

But—"Was she harmed?" Emrys had to know. He'd made mistakes in his assumptions and now he needed to know.

Rowan eyed him appraisingly, then shook his head. "She needs rest and time to recover from those creatures. Nothing more."

"Thank you. And thank you for summoning the others." The words didn't do justice to what he felt, but Emrys said them all the same. If Rowan hadn't sent for his comrades…

Rowan nodded.

"Elentiya's training is complete." Rowan didn't move from his position blocking the door, but his shoulders sagged a little. "She's no longer on kitchen duty."

The words were curt, brusque, but Emrys could hear more than the male probably wanted to let on.

"We'll be leaving once she's fully recovered."

Emrys and Malakai bade the prince goodnight and made their way to their room in silence, knowing how many sharp ears were nearby.

For the first time, Emrys found himself wondering, thinking of Elentiya asking for all those stories about the queen, the way Rowan's shoulders had dropped ever so slightly. What was the cost of serving Maeve? Emrys had never seen a flicker of joy from any of her blood-sworn males and had always attributed it to the fact that he didn't know them. But the shadows in Rowan's eyes as he'd announced Elentiya's training to be over made him wonder.

What had it been like for the male, all these months? Though he was here on his queen's orders, Emrys suspected that he'd had a lot more freedom than was normal. The demi-Fae were so far beneath his rank as to be insignificant, meaning he'd been free of all the courtly maneuvering, games and façades that were probably a big part of his life in Doranelle—and Emrys had seen just how unhappy the male had been when the Fae nobles had spent the night.

Maybe these months the male had been able to be himself.

"Looks like Luca really _was_ onto something."

Emrys pulled himself out of his thoughts as Malakai spoke.

They'd just entered their room and Emrys shut the door. His mate placed the candle on the bedside table, then moved across the room to light the hearth. Emrys waited to speak until Malakai was done, using the time to start removing his layers and wash up.

Malakai did the same before climbing into bed beside him.

"Not you too, Malakai," Emrys scolded softly, only half earnest. "Don't you think there are enough gossips in this place already?"

"Did you, or did you not, just see the same thing I did?" Malakai asked, eyebrows raised and a hint of a smile on his face. Damn charmer. Emrys couldn't be angry with him and they both knew it.

Honestly, Emrys didn't know what to say. Yes, he'd seen it, and really there wasn't much left to interpretation. Still…

"Yes, I saw. And you know I don't think it's any of our business."

"I don't disagree, but… I'll admit," Malakai murmured as he slid into bed beside him, "I've got questions…"

Emrys knew his mate well enough to know that he wasn't going to let the subject go until they'd talked it out. And that anything they said within these four walls would never reach anyone else. So he conceded, "So do I."

Malakai heard the sadness in his voice and cupped his cheek softly, his thumb stroking along his lower lip.

"You're worried about her."

It wasn't a question.

Emrys nodded. Where to start? "She's so young, Malakai."

His mate looked down, chewing softly on the inside of his cheek. "She is. And he's old."

Emrys nodded again.

"But…" Malakai went on, "It's not uncommon for Fae to take human lovers, and they're almost always young."

"And how many of them end up siring children who end up here? Those human lovers are nothing but playthings to them.

"Don't you think Elentiya deserves better than that?"

"I think they all do, but are you telling me you think Rowan is like that? That awful male who was here a few weeks ago, yes, but Rowan?"

"Is this new, high opinion of him based on his behaviour, or on the fact you've seen him shirtless twice in as many days?" Emrys couldn't help but tease his mate a little. They definitely needed a bit of levity after all the fear and grief of the last week.

Malakai gave him a boyish grin. "That might be a part of it…" Lies. But Emrys' heart felt lighter for it. "Can you blame me?"

Emrys snorted softly, but went along with it. "Perhaps not, but don't let Elentiya catch you eyeing him up. You heard how she growled at that woman at Beltane."

"You make a good point." Malakai kissed him softly, "Thank you for always looking out for me, even if I'm not as young and good-looking as Prince Whitethorn."

Emrys shoved at his mate's chest and Malakai fell back onto his side of the bed, a wide, mischievous grin on his face.

An echo of the fear Emrys had felt while he'd been at the healers' compound clanged through him: the thought that he could have lost this man whom he loved more than life itself.

He caught his mate's hand in his own and brought it to his lips. Malakai looked at him, his grin falling away and face softening as he read the emotions on Emrys' face.

"None of that, now," he said softly, rolling back onto his side and touching their foreheads together. "I'm alright. And it's all thanks to the people we were busy gossiping about.

"So you don't like the age difference, what else?"

Malakai was trying too hard and Emrys knew it, but he didn't resist as Malakai steered the conversation back to something less serious.

"He's her trainer and gets final say as to whether or not she gets to enter Doranelle. She clearly wants something from Maeve… What if she only went along with this because she felt she had to?"

Malakai raised an eyebrow at him. "You really think _Elentiya _would do that?"

"No," he said, firmly, "But… I don't like it. You've seen them together. They hardly have a healthy relationship no matter how you define it."

"I would have agreed with you, until last week. But I saw a side of her that I haven't seen before. I think that if you put that girl under pressure, that's when she really comes into her own.

"You know I had no fondness for her, but the way she handled herself last week… Whitethorn treated her as an equal, and she earned it, the way she was acting. There's nothing soft about her. And I don't think anyone could force her to do something she doesn't want to."

Emrys had only caught occasional glimpses of the meetings in the run-up to the assault, but knowing how Malakai had felt about Elentiya, she must have been impressive indeed to sway his mate. "So if we ignore the age difference, if we assume that Rowan sees her as an equal, then what? He's blood-sworn to Maeve. He'll have to leave her soon."

Malakai kissed him again. "We don't know what's going on between them. Only that they're sharing a bed and they're nearly inseparable. But if I'd met you and known that I'd only have you in my life for a short while, I would have made the best of every moment we had. Even knowing that losing you would hurt, I'd still have loved you with everything I had."


	20. Chapter 20

Aaaand, I'm back with the next chapter. I'm sorry for the delay, but I'm sure you all know the ins and outs of adult life and don't need a story (except the main one, that is).

First off, please forgive me this POV: I wrote so many versions of this chapter and none of them were quite right, until this one. Enjoy!

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_Chapter 20_

Celaena loved dancing and when Emrys and Luca announced they were throwing a party to celebrate their victory she'd immediately asked if there would be music.

"It wouldn't be a party if there wasn't," Luca had responded.

"And dancing?" she'd demanded.

"Naturally," Emrys said from the other side of the kitchen, a soft smile on his face.

Celaena hadn't even tried to hide her grin.

She dressed in her nicest clothes—no different from what she wore every day except for the lack of wear and tear—and carefully combed her newly shortened hair.

When she caught sight of her reflection in the small—often neglected—mirror, she came to a stop. The person looking back at her wasn't the one who had looked back at her before. She hadn't looked in the mirror for a while now, but she knew that these changes were because of the valg.

For the first time in a long time, the woman in the mirror looked happy. Flush with colour, she looked settled in her own skin, and not as young as she had been as if the lifetime she'd relived with the valg had aged her physically. She didn't look old, not in the least, but for the first time, it wasn't a girl looking back at her, but a woman.

Celaena, not for the first time, wondered just what the King would make of it if he knew that rather than destroying her, his creatures had instead reforged her, however unintentionally. She hadn't been their target, yet she was the result.

She liked the woman in the mirror.

Tearing her gaze away she turned to her companion.

"Come on," she urged Rowan.

He was once again sat at his work-table, reports and knives spread before him.

Celaena didn't give him a chance to respond as she grabbed him by the arm and led him from the room, nor did she fail to notice that he didn't resist in the slightest.

In fact, he hadn't protested or resisted anything she'd done, or insisted he do, since that night.

Her carranam.

Her friend.

In no time they were outside in the clearing between the kitchen and the forest, and Celaena was pushing a mug of ale into his hand and clinking her own against it. Rowan just gave her a mildly long-suffering look before he took a drink, and Celaena couldn't help but grin at him.

To her delight, the corners of his lips curled up, and though he tried to hide it behind his mug, she saw it. His eyes never left hers.

If she'd looked happier than she had been in months when she'd seen herself in the mirror, then he looked more content now than she'd seen in all their months of training. There was a softness to his expression, a warmth that had nothing to do with the firelight glinting off his silver hair and eyes the colour of the night-dark forest around them.

Falling in beside him, Celaena tapped her foot to the music and watched as the first of the party-goers began to dance in the large space around which the tables had been set up.

She'd finished her second mug of ale before she became bored of simply watching. More than a few appreciative glances had been shot her way by dancers looking for partners, but not one had approached her.

It wasn't because they now regarded her with as much awe as interest, or even a little fear in some cases, that they stayed away. No, even though all three were present in the looks she received, it was when their eyes landed on the looming male beside her that they looked away and searched out other partners.

Not that she blamed them. Not only was Rowan impressive and not a little intimidating, but it was near impossible to keep anything a secret in Mistward, and by now she was sure that everyone knew that she and Rowan were sharing a bed.

Of course, no one would ever assume that that was all they were sharing, so…

"You know," she said, turning her head to look at him, "It's polite to ask a lady to dance at such events."

Rowan slowly turned to look at her. _Dance?_ His raised eyebrow seemed to say.

_Yes, since you're scaring everyone else away. _

He huffed a laugh and looked away for a moment. When he looked back she could read the words on his face. _If they're scared off that easily, they won't be able to handle you. _

She gave him a bemused look.

_I'm not asking you to dance, Princess. Find someone else. _

_And you?_

_I don't dance. _

Celaena rolled her eyes at him. "You don't eat chocolate, you don't dance…" She almost mentioned Remelle, but thought better of it, though she suspected he read the thought on her face anyway.

_If your dancing is anything like your baking, I'll be better off staying here. _

She bristled slightly. Her dancing was nothing like her baking.

She decided it was good timing when, just then, one tune ended and the next began, a jaunty piece that would involve more partner changes than one would easily be able to keep track of. Perfect.

Not sparing him another glance, Celaena walked away and joined the dance. And if she was aware of him watching her, well, it didn't last long before she was utterly lost to the music and the joy of dancing.

It'd been so long since she'd enjoyed the act of simply being alive, but as she danced she remembered that feeling and reveled in it, her partners nothing but a blur.

She was alive and, for tonight at least, carefree.

Celaena danced and danced until sweat pasted her clothes to her skin and tendrils of hair to her forehead and neck, then she danced her way through the crowd until she emerged back where she'd started.

Rowan, of course, was still in the same place as before. Did he really never have fun? Did he never relax? The only times she'd seen him do so had been when they'd been lying in bed, recounting stories, and occasionally during their more recent training. The only time she'd seen him having fun was when they'd run together.

He was still watching her, and she smiled at him as she stepped up beside him, perched on the edge of a table and plucked the ale right from his hand before taking a long drink.

She almost moaned at how good it felt to drink the cool liquid: cool because of Rowan's magic.

His eyes, which had been locked on her as she'd danced and danced and danced, followed her as she tipped her head back to drink the last of the ale, but she just grinned at him in mock innocence as she thunked the mug down on the table beside her.

"If I remember correctly…" Celaena mused, tapping her finger against her bottom lip, "It's your turn to get the drinks." She raised an eyebrow and smiled sweetly at him.

He knew her well enough by now to know what she was teasing, but still he picked up her mug, and the one she'd pilfered from him, with just the tiniest resigned sigh, and made his way towards the kegs of ale.

When he returned, the mug he handed her was delightfully cold under her fingers.

Celaena gave him another grin before she drank.

Two pleasantly chilled drinks and a fair amount of time spent in companionable silence later, it was definitely time to dance again and this time she didn't want to dance alone or with some nameless partner.

She'd already used up her favour on the cake and, for a moment, she regretted doing so: if he'd eaten that monstrosity of a thing she'd made with such diligence, then what would it be like if she could get him to dance with the same focus?

She didn't have a favour to hold over him anymore though.

Celaena turned towards him and waited for him to look at her, knowing he was as aware of her every movement as she was of his. It took just long enough for her to know he'd either been bracing himself or hoping she'd lose interest.

When he finally looked at her, his eyes scanning her face before they settled on hers, she held his gaze and said, "Dance with me?"

Celaena didn't know why she wanted this as much as she did, and didn't want to think about it too much. She just knew that she did. And if he wasn't going to ask her, she'd ask him.

Rowan was still looking sideways at her, firelight glinting off his hair and eyes, gilding his tan skin in warm golds and oranges. His mouth curled up a little on one side but his lips thinned slightly as he shook his head at her in a gentle rebuke.

It hurt a little if she was being honest with herself: something she wasn't particularly good at, though the ale helped. What she was good at was being honest with him, however, so she didn't stop the words that bubbled out of her.

"Would it be such a terrible thing to dance with me?"

As soon as the question was out of her mouth, Celaena realised she didn't want the answer. If he, her carranam—the person who had seen all of her and not turned away—said it was, it would hurt, even with the new-found confidence she had in herself.

She shouldn't have asked at all.

"No, Aelin." He turned to her fully, and with the look on his face, free of all the usual hardness, she half expected him to reach out and touch her. He didn't, but he did go on, casting a look at the dancers. "But I don't find the same joy in dancing that you do."

"So you never dance." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Not if I have a choice."

She was about to throw a witty comeback at him, but then the full meaning of his words settled in her.

Not having a choice about dancing seemed such a small thing—something all nobility and royals had to deal with—and yet, to have absolutely no control over your own body… That was what the blood-oath could mean, depending on the person to whom it was sworn. And Maeve… Maeve could command him to stop breathing and he would do as she ordered. In comparison to that, not having a choice about whether or not to dance seemed small, but it was that triviality that chilled her.

Just how often did Rowan have the luxury of choice?

She had no right to push this.

"Fine. I wouldn't want you stepping on my toes anyway." Lies. She couldn't imagine him ever being so clumsy and she had no doubt he'd see it for what it was: an easy escape from the sudden awkwardness of the conversation.

Pushing all that from her mind, Celaena let the music fill her. The tune was lively and fast and perfect for dancing away a summer's night. It wasn't long before she was passing from partner to partner, all as tipsy as she was, twirling and spinning and light on her feet. But through it all, her eyes kept searching out the silver-haired Fae who stood so still and serious on the edge of the revelry.

Each time she did so, she could see his eyes on her.

Always on her.

So she danced for him, and when her eyes sought out his face once more, she could see his smile small as it was.

The moon had passed its zenith by the time Celaena stopped dancing, thirsty enough to not feel like continuing, but inebriated enough to know that another ale would not be the answer. She wasn't drunk, but…

Extricating herself from the other dancers took some time, but eventually she found herself back before Rowan, who watched her sway slightly before he raised an eyebrow at her.

_Are you done dancing for the night, Princess?_

Yes, she supposed she was. It'd felt wonderful to dance so freely, felt even better each time a cool breeze found her amongst the dancers.

"Unless you've changed your mind?" she teased.

Gods, she wanted to dance with him now even more than she had earlier. She loved to dance and loved it even more when she did so with friends. She wanted to share that joy with him.

But if he didn't feel that same joy, if he didn't feel the freedom of it, she wouldn't push him. The softness in his face told her enough: he'd enjoyed watching her dance, had understood it for the gift it was.

He smiled at her, barely more than a twitch of his lips.

_I haven't changed my mind. _

She sighed dramatically. "There's nothing else for it then," she announced. "Take me to bed, Prince."

He raised an amused but questioning eyebrow at her choice of words, but started walking, Celaena keeping pace beside him.

She waited until the cool dark of the empty hallways surrounded them, the music and chattering voices faded into silence behind them, before she spoke.

"It's time for us to leave." Such a small statement for such a powerful meaning.

She knew that they were just stalling at this point: Rowan giving her what time he could to recover her strength—of her body, magic _and _heart—before taking her to face Maeve.

And perhaps giving himself time, too.

But his friends would have given their reports to the Fae queen by now, and every day they delayed would be another he'd have to justify.

Rowan slowed to a stop and turned to assess her, his eyes sharp and unyielding.

"Is that your decision, or is it the alcohol talking?" His voice was harder than she'd heard it since the night of the attack.

"Does it matter?" They both knew it didn't. "I'll never be more ready than I am now." Ready to face Maeve; ready to return to Adarlan and face Arobynn, the king, the valg; ready to say goodbye to him…

"We can't put this off forever," she said softly. "I came here with one purpose, and I've already been here too long. It's time."

His eyes lingered on her for a long moment and she could see the tightness in his jaw as he nodded. "Tomorrow, then."

She swallowed as her gaze held his, and she nodded, then turned away before he could see the pain in her eyes.

She was several steps down the hallway before he started moving again.

Their room was warm and painfully welcoming when she entered, as if to dissuade her from her decision.

She couldn't let herself dwell on it and instead moved to start filling her pack with her meagre possessions. When Rowan entered just moments later, her spare clothes were already packed and she had to stop herself from turning to him as she heard the door close. He didn't move from the door.

The silence lingered as she moved around the room, picking up the few things she wouldn't need in the morning and when she finally put her pack down beside the work-table and turned to him, she found him still at the door, face carefully neutral but for the faintest hint of pain in his eyes.

She'd known their coming parting would hurt—would hurt both of them—but she couldn't yield to that sorrow. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Not knowing what else to say in the face of their shared anguish, Celaena repeated the oath they'd made to each other.

"To whatever end?" she asked, voice thicker than she'd intended.

Rowan crossed the room, slowly, until he stood before her and took her hand in his, scar to scar, hands clasped between them as his other hand came up to brush a strand of hair out of her face.

"To whatever end." His words were soft, belying the intensity of his eyes.

She didn't know whether to thank or curse the gods for giving her a friend such as him, only to separate them again.

The minutes stretched long as they stood like that, the tips of his fingers combing her hair behind her ear in the gentlest of touches, nothing but the crackling of the fire and a faint hint of the music still being played outside disturbing the silence of the room.

Celaena couldn't tell what exactly changed in his face, but she could read the words there, as clearly as if he'd murmured them into her ear.

_Ask me again. _

And because he was her carranam, a part of her soul cleaved away at the dawn of time, she knew what he meant.

She scanned his face, looking for anything to tell her she was wrong.

She found nothing.

So she asked, voice softer even than the music as she looked back into those eyes of verdant green, "Rowan Whitethorn, will you dance with me?"

A heartbeat passed. Two.

"Yes, Fireheart." Rowan's voice was equally soft, though there was something in it that even she couldn't place.

But then his fingertip was tracing the shell of her ear as his hand fell from her hair to take her scarred hand from his, his own scarred palm going to her waist as he took the tiniest step closer.

Her eyes were locked on his, looking for the faintest indication that this wasn't what he wanted, but then he took another step. Not away, but towards her, his hand on her waist holding her steady as the hand clasping hers lead her into the first step of a dance, then another. And another.

The slow, measured steps were a stark contrast to the music drifting in through the window with its playful riffs and driving rhythm, but it was so utterly Rowan: steadfast and sure and as out of place in this fortress as she herself was.

And perfect. So utterly perfect that it made her heart ache and eyes sting with tears.

But he didn't see them, not when she rested her cheek against his broad chest and let him hold her just that little bit closer.

And they danced.

The music stopped long before they did.

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**FIN**

This is the last official chapter of this story, though I've decided to make this into a collection and add parts from the remaining books. I also plan to add Emrys, Luca and Malakai arriving in Terrasen post KoA, but that will be a stand-alone or part of a later work, I'm not sure yet. I also don't yet know the timeframe for all this. As you've seen, my updates went from daily to weekly or worse, so don't expect anything too soon. So, if you'd like to keep track of my future works, please follow me. In the meantime I have two other ToG fics up on here: _Phoenix_ and _First Dance_.

I'd like to say a truly heartfelt thank you to all of you who have read, followed and favourited this, and a special thank you to those of you who have reviewed so faithfully. There aren't words to describe how happy it made me to know you were enjoying this!

Finally, if you enjoyed this story at all, please leave a review or add it to your favourites list. Not only does it make me happy but it will also help future readers find it. Feel free to share this if you feel like it-I'll be flattered if you do!

Also, if you're interested, this fic is available to download over on AO3, so if you'd like to add it to your kindle or e-book, you can. Please do leave a comment if you do so!


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